


Saving Moscow

by dettiot



Series: Finding Home [4]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulcrum may be nearly defeated, but the greatest struggle yet is still to come for Chuck and Sarah.  Sent undercover at Volkoff Industries, Sarah worries about losing herself.  Back in Burbank, Chuck worries about his future.  Will they defeat their enemies in time for their dream wedding and get their happily ever after?  The fourth story in the Finding Home series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The ending of Solving Burbank left a lot of people on the edge of their seats. I hope the tension doesn’t get to be too much for y’all in this story, because the suspense isn’t going to be letting up anytime soon. But just hang in there and I hope you enjoy this fic!

There was smoke in the air. Sarah ducked back behind the column, reloading her guns as quickly as she could while avoiding the bullets flying in the air. She paused for a moment and closed her eyes, trying to stay focused on her job.

Opening her eyes, she quickly looked around the edge of the column, just long enough to time her next move. Then she dived into a forward roll, scrambling to her feet and firing quickly. And by the time her guns were empty, her opponents were dead and everything was quiet.

Quiet except for the sound of her breathing.

Without delay, she slid one of her guns against her back and walked over to the bodies. It was the matter of a few moments to quickly and efficiently search them for the USB drive containing the information she had been sent to retrieve. Once she had that drive, Sarah pocketed it, tucked her other gun into her purse, then walked out of the warehouse into the moonless chill of Vienna.

Her hands sunk deep into the pockets of her trench coat, Sarah walked with firm steps, her boot heels clicking against the pocked pavement. Now that the job was done, she kept her face blank as she walked, heading towards a nearby tram stop that would take her back to the center of town, back to her hotel. And within the quiet and privacy of her luxurious suite, standing under the hot needles of the shower spray, that would be when she would let herself think about what she really wanted.

The last six weeks had only one constant: nonstop work. Sarah had criss-crossed Europe, Russia and the former Soviet republics, sinking deeper and deeper into her cover identity. Becoming the part, just as she had been trained to do. She wasn't Sarah Walker anymore; she was Sabina Radwanska, born in Poland and part of an ethnically Ukrainian family who worshipped in the Eastern Orthodox religion rather than the neighbors' Roman Catholic faith. Sabina spoke Russian, Ukrainian and English fluently beside her native Polish, was a proficient marksman, and had served in terrorist groups on both sides of the Polish-Ukrainian border. But now, she had struck out on her own, working freelance to build her reputation outside Eastern Europe.

A tram was arriving at the stop, on its way to the downtown sector, as she approached. Sarah climbed on and stood near the doorway, one hand holding a strap while her other hand stayed in her pocket, close to her gun. She gazed out the window, watching as the tram neared the Kärntner section of the Ringstraße, where she would depart and walk to her hotel.

Even though she appeared lost in thought, like any other young woman heading home after a late night at work, Sarah's eyes took in everything in the tram car. Her attention kept returning to a young couple, teenagers really, sitting a few seats away from her.

The boy had the knobby knees and elbows of a young man still growing. His hair was dark and curly and his arm was wrapped around a girl with long, blue-streaked blonde hair. The girl was pressed up against his side, turning to whisper in his ear frequently before giggling. Her laughter was so free, so easy . . .

Sarah turned slightly so the couple was out of her line of sight. The tram stopped and she stepped out, her boots moving quickly as she walked towards the Hotel Imperial. She was nearly there, nearly ready to become herself if only for the length of her shower.

Walking up to the glass doors of the hotel, she caught sight of her reflection. It was only thanks to her training that she didn't flinch, didn't look around as if looking for herself. Because otherwise, she wouldn't recognize the young woman before her. Not the pale-skinned woman with long dark hair, skinny in spite of the heavy trench coat wrapped around her.

The ornate lobby and antique furniture were subject to the standard sweep of her eyes as she walked through, but no one was paying attention to her. Her heels made distinctive clicking sounds as she walked across the marble floors to the elevator bank.

Once the door of her suite was closed behind her, she could feel the tension start to leave her body. Stepping into the walk-in closet, she pulled off her trench coat and hung it up, then began undressing. Her guns she took with her as she walked in her underwear towards the en suite bathroom. She taped one of the guns underneath the writing desk, disregarding how the duct tape had already damaged the priceless antique, and carried the other into the bathroom with her.

Although she normally showered, tonight something made the bathtub more appealing. Sarah started filling the tub, carefully placing her gun on the ledge before undressing and pulling off the dark wig, placing it on the small vanity by the sink. Next came the wig cap, letting her blonde hair tumble around her shoulders.

With a soft sigh, Sarah ran her fingers through her hair, enjoying the lack of pressure on her scalp. Then, she walked over and sank down into the tub, the hot water enveloping her body. She closed her eyes and tried to relax. Tried to focus on soothing her tired muscles, on savoring the feel of hot water against her skin.

But the marble bathtub was cold against the skin of her back. Her arms floated in the water, adrift and unmoored. And her hair was only stroked by her own fingers.

Looking up at the ceiling, Sarah knew that once again, she had failed. Failed to keep away the thoughts of the one person she wanted most in the world. The person she couldn't have. The person she shouldn't even be thinking about.

Sarah wouldn't let herself say his name out loud. She was too paranoid, too scared of having eyes and ears on her at all times. But she needed to do something, so again, she settled for the best she could do.

Slipping down under the water, her eyes closing, Sarah used the water to distort her voice and disguise the most important word she knew. "Chuck."

She repeated his name a few more times, then pushed up, her head breaking the surface and water streaming down from her hair. Rubbing her hands over her face, Sarah tried to find some kind of calm. Tried to stop beating herself up over something which she had no control.

Perhaps it had been tonight's job that made her feel so . . . unsettled. Because tonight had been her first kills. Up until now, it had just been beatings or intimidations, information recovery or petty theft. But her most recent client had insisted upon no witnesses. And knowing that kills would attract attention from those whom she wanted to notice, Sarah had done it.

It brought back memories of her Red Test. And memories of Chuck-of sitting on a bench at the Project Omaha base and telling him about that day. Remembering how sad he had looked and how upset. Remembering how disappointed she had felt in herself, for going through with something she had thought she wouldn't do.

Those memories just made tonight even worse. How could she ever tell Chuck what she had done? Would he look at her differently, knowing she had killed in cold blood? Or would he pretend like nothing had changed, when everything was different?

Damn it, she was doing it again. Once again, she had gotten ahead of herself, thinking about the end of the mission when she had barely started. It was something Graham had cautioned her about while briefing her in Washington, after she had left Los Angeles.

"Stay in the moment, Sarah. Don't think about the end, or the end will come sooner than you think-and in a way you don't want to happen."

It was good advice. She hadn't really paid that much attention to it at the time, since she was still silently, furiously angry over Graham selecting her for this assignment. In truth, she was still mad. But time had dimmed her anger as well as letting his words begin to resonate. And because she didn't want to be killed due to a moment's distraction, she had set boundaries for herself. No conscious thinking of Chuck outside of her hotel room, no pausing in front of wedding dress salons, no purchasing of magazines that Sarah Walker might read if she was in Burbank.

In fact, she tried not to think of Chuck at all. Because when she thought of him, the pain of missing him hurt her all over again. Yet it was a sweet, almost addictive pain and maybe it was time she admitted that her plan wasn't working.

She ached for Chuck to the marrow of her bones. For the first time, she cursed her powers of observation and near-photographic memory, because those traits allowed her a wealth of details and images and memories of Chuck.

_His smile-the way the hair curled on the back of his neck-his feet covering hers in bed-a kiss brushed over her temple when she was drowsy in the mornings-his laughter-hearing him babble excitedly about video games-watching his jaw clench as he held a gun-inhaling that Irish Spring and grass scent he always had-touching his skin as she pulled off his clothes-tasting the sweetness of his lips-_

Biting her lower lip, Sarah made herself stop. That was more than enough. If she let herself keep going, she'd never leave this room, might not even leave this tub. Once upon a time, she thought she would live this life, traveling on her own, staying in different hotel rooms, moving from one assignment to another. She could do this. She had to do this.

At least all the heartbreak and work was paying off. As her name became established, clients were starting to come to her: some furtive and nervous, others brazen and practiced. It didn't matter to Sabina Radwanska who the boss was or how they acted: all that mattered was what they paid and where the job was. Soon, she would be on the radar of Alexei Volkoff, who was always looking for new blood for his organization. Mostly because he had killed the old blood.

And once that happened, she would be that much closer to finishing this. To go back to her real life, the life that she had worked so hard to create. To have time for friends and for herself. And most of all, to never have to leave Chuck again. Once this was done, they could get married and be together. Forever. That was all she wanted.

The water was going cold and she probably had spent too much time in here. She needed to clean her guns and send a message to her local contact, informing him that she had the USB drive. Once she had her delivery instructions, Sarah could get out of Vienna and find another job. One that might finally get the attention of Alexei Volkoff.

XXX

Two weeks later, she was in the Georgian capital of Tbilisi, taking advantage of another flare-up of hostilities between Georgia and Russia on behalf of her most recent employer, when while scrambling for cover she literally fell at the feet of John Casey.

She could see how his eyes narrowed slightly at the change in her appearance-the hair, the tight denim jacket, leather pants and motorcycle boots-before he reached down and hauled her to her feet.

"This way," he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the shrill sounds of overhead mortar fire. He pulled her off the streets and into a deserted restaurant-part coffee house, part bar, by the looks of it.

It took a moment for her ears to adjust to the sudden drop in volume, although there was still the occasional very muted whistle or thump of artillery. Casey made a beeline for the bar and started looking through the bottles, giving her a moment to look him over. It had only been about five months since she had seen him last, so there wasn't much different about him. He was still the same imposing, gruff NSA agent. The fact that he hadn't just shown her a way out of the firefight-that he was creating a situation for them to talk-made her wonder what was up.

He looked over at her. "So? What's the story?"

"What makes you think there's a story?" she asked, leaning against the bar.

Casey grunted. "Uh-huh. Try again, Walker."

"It's Radwanska right now," she said. "Sabina Radwanska."

"Polish cover?" He paused, then shrugged after she nodded. "Makes sense. I heard about a new player called Radwanska. Didn't realize it was you."

"I've been on this assignment about two months. It's good to hear that my name is getting out there." There was a few rickety-looking stools in front of the bar. Sarah tested two before finding one that seemed capable of holding her weight. Casey rustled up two glasses and filled them with amber-colored liquid.

"Think this is whisky," Casey said, setting down the bottle and picking up a glass. He tossed back half the contents, then looked at her. "So spill."

Sarah took a small sip from her glass, looking at him. "What makes you think I have anything to spill?"

He gave her a long look, then shook his head. "You really trying to bullshit me? Actin' like we don't know each other?"

Looking down into her glass, Sarah swirled the whisky around. "No. But . . . I'm undercover. And I don't want to jeopardize finishing this assignment."

"Yeah, I know you're undercover. And if you've got Bartowski waiting for you, I get wanting to get back to the nerd. You say you've been on the job two months, with no end in sight? Then when you get a chance to connect with someone you usedta know, you learn to take those chances."

The colors in her glass were a blur of brown and orange tones, combining into a dull amber. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying not to think about how similar the whisky was to the color of Chuck's eyes. All it lacked was the sparkle that she could see there, that spark of happiness and excitement and love.

When she looked at Casey, his expression was about as close as he could get to sympathetic. It made something inside her uncoil a little. She tossed back some of the whisky and looked at him. "Did you hear that Chuck and I are engaged?"

Casey smirked a little. "Knew he was thinking of doin' it. I'm glad he got up the nerve."

"I really had no idea he was going to ask," Sarah said softly, running her finger along the rim of her glass. She paused, considering whether she should mention it, then went ahead. "The wedding is going to be on August 20."

"August 20, this year?" Casey asked, arching an eyebrow. "Takin' a risk there, aren't you?"

"Everything's a risk," Sarah said, looking at Casey. "And . . . and we both needed to think that I wouldn't be gone long enough to miss the wedding. Because if I did, that would be six months apart."

He nodded slowly, before lifting his glass. "Congrats. You seem to be makin' it work."

She gave him a small smile. "Remember when we were talking in Rome, about how everyone in a relationship screws up?"

"Yep," he said, refilling his glass and holding the bottle towards hers.

Nodding, she watched as he topped off her drink before continuing. "We nearly did. But . . . but Chuck and I, we managed to convince Graham that we should keep working together, even after we got married."

Casey grunted, his eyebrows raising. "CIA's got all those no-fraternization rules, though. How'd you convince him?"

"Well, Chuck couldn't quit, not with the Intersect and all . . . so I was ready to resign if Graham didn't let us keep working together," Sarah said, feeling the irony hit home yet again. If Graham hadn't pretended to be fine with being outwitted by them-if Sarah had resigned-then she wouldn't be here now. They might actually be married by now, if she had quit.

It was somewhat gratifying, in the midst of all this, to discover that she hadn't completely lost herself yet. Because it was really funny to watch John Casey nearly do a spit take. "You? You offered to quit?!"

"It seemed better than any other option," she said, looking at him. She didn't really want to get into the story of Chuck's father marrying his handler. About how they had that little fact ready in case they needed it. But during the meeting, she had made the decision to offer to quit, rather than using the precedent of an asset marrying a handler.

Casey shook his head. "Still can't believe it. You love the job."

"I did once. But now . . ." Sarah's voice trailed off, then she shrugged and took another swallow of her whisky.

Could she explain to Casey that she had been ordered onto this assignment? Would he actually listen as she explained how much she missed Chuck, how worried she was about him? Because she knew he had to be so scared about her safety, so concerned about not knowing how she was doing that he was bound to be a mess. And yes, Bryce had shown what a friend he was, to both of him, with his whispered promise to her that he would look out for Chuck while she was gone. But it wasn't the same.

Sarah sighed. It was a sign of how lost she felt that she was considering dumping all of that on Casey. Casey, who had a distaste for lady feelings that was only eclipsed by his hatred for traitors and terrorists. No, he wasn't the right person to share all this with. But there were other things to talk about.

"What have you heard about Fulcrum?" she asked, looking at him.

"Hunh," he said, letting out his annoyed/curious grunt. "You're still chasin' after them?"

"That's what we were doing when our team split up," Sarah said. "I thought you were going back to Afghanistan."

"I was there for a while. The Taliban have come back and turned to a buncha former Soviet republics for guns and recruits. So they've got me following the trails here." He grimaced a little and drank some more whisky. "Least I ain't had to go to Chechnya."

The bitterness in his voice made her wonder just what had happened in the war-torn republic, but she held her tongue. If she asked, Casey wouldn't answer, and he still hadn't answered her first question. If he had been traveling around in this part of the world, he could provide some good intel on Volkoff and Fulcrum. She certainly trusted Casey and his judgement more than some analyst back at Langley.

"So you've been moving around. What have you heard?"

He shrugged. "They never were a big player in this part of the world. That's Volkoff."

"Yeah," Sarah said, sipping her whisky. "Word is that Volkoff has become a major player in Fulcrum."

"What's left of it," Casey said.

"With Volkoff's money and resources, it could get a lot bigger. Back to the glory days for them, so I've heard."

Grunting, Casey leaned back against the back portion of the bar. "You know much about Volkoff?"

She shifted in her chair, wrapping both hands around her glass. "Just what you hear. Crazy Russian arms dealer. Loves ice cream and rocket launchers."

Casey looked at her over the rim of his glass. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he fitted all the pieces together. It hadn't exactly been subtle, how she had let him figure out what she was working on. Between the Polish cover identity and the jobs she had been doing, and her remarks on Fulcrum and Volkoff, Casey would have to be pretty stupid to not figure it out. But it had been three days since she'd gotten more than four hours of sleep at a stretch, and going on a week without a hot shower. If this was what undercover life was like all the time, she had gotten too soft for it, she suspected.

"He's a lot more than just crazy," Casey said. "Him or his people, either way-they're good strategists. The crazy helps, but he's makin' sound moves. If he's got his fingers in Fulcrum, that's not good."

The fact that Casey was confirming just what Graham had told her when imposing this assignment on her wasn't very comforting. His reference to Volkoff's people tugged at her curiosity, though.

"Anyone you know as the big mover and shaker inside his organization?" she asked. "You can guess how much luck the Agency's had getting that kind of info."

This grunt was almost a snicker. "Yeah, gotta be a bit beyond what a Spy Ken can do. All I know is that he lives and dies by what his number two says. Some woman that he's in love with, I've heard."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. The rumors had it that Volkoff's right-hand man was a woman, but the news that he was in love with her was . . . interesting. It would give her something to work with, when Volkoff got interested in Sabina Radwanska and her talents.

The sounds of mortars flying through the air and impacting with the remaining buildings had gradually faded. Sarah finished the rest of her drink. "I should get moving."

He looked at her for a minute, like he was appraising her. "Like I said, congratulations on the upcoming wedding."

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Casey. You know we'd love to have you there."

Making Casey embarrassed wasn't something she had much experience with, but it seemed like her invitation to her and Chuck's wedding had done that. Casey shuffled his feet, then nodded a little. "Send me the info care of Fort Meade. They'll get it to me."

Her stool rocked a little as she slid off the seat and stood up. "I will. It was good seeing you."

"Yeah, you, too." He sounded gruffer than normal, so Sarah just gave him a nod and turned towards the door. She didn't want to embarrass him any more than she already had.

She had just put her hand on the doorknob when Casey's voice stopped her. "I gave you grief about you and Bartowski screwing up, 'cause you seemed too joined at the hip. If you two didn't work out, you'd both be useless."

Turning to face him, she could see how uncomfortable he was. But if there was anything she knew about John Casey, it was that he always said what he saw as the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Usually it was just his listeners who squirmed.

"And I still think that," he said. "But if anyone can make it in this line of work, I think it's you two."

If he was anyone else, she might hug him. But instead, she walked back over to the bar and rested a hand on his arm. There weren't any words for her to express how touched she was by his statement, by his belief in her and Chuck.

Clearly affected by the awkwardness, he shifted his feet, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "This is my direct line."

Sarah did her best not to let her jaw drop open. Casey was intensely private. Getting his direct phone number-the number he could be reached at for any reason and at any time-was a show of trust that she hadn't expected.

Slowly, she took the card. She looked at the number and memorized it, then tucked the card into her pocket. "I'll destroy the card by the end of the day." Sarah swallowed, looking at him. "Thank you, John."

He nodded. "Be careful out there, Walker."

"I will," she said, feeling a new sense of resolve. Not that she wasn't always careful, but . . . Casey had been right. Running into an old friend while undercover, it had given her a chance to reconnect with herself. With Sarah Walker. And although it might be against protocol, she had a hard time caring about that right now, considering how much better she felt now. She had been struggling ever since Vienna. Now she felt ready for whatever came next.

And what came next was right outside that door, and she couldn't afford to put it off any longer. So she smiled at Casey and slipped out of the building, picking her way through rubble to get back to work.

XXX

Sarah stared at the spectacle that was formerly her hotel room. A giant floor vase of roses, positioned next to the bed, filled the room with their heavy, cloying scent. On the bed was a large box of _ptasie mleczko_ : a Polish candy, made up of meringue covered in chocolate. A large case was laid out next to the candy-a case that looked suspiciously like it contained a rifle or other large gun. A snowy white envelope, with her cover name written in scarlet ink, was placed on top of the weapons case.

It would appear that Alexei Volkoff had noticed her. And while this was what she had been waiting for, and she had expected something unusual, she hadn't expected to feel like a woman being wooed by a billionaire.

Although she doubted such women got guns. They probably got diamonds.

Shaking her head, Sarah walked over to the bed and picked up the envelope. She took out one of her throwing knives and used it to slit the envelope open-it might be helpful for the CIA if she didn't interfere with any DNA left behind.

Inside the envelope was a matching white card, bearing a handwritten note in the same scarlet ink.

_My dear Ms. Radwanska-_

_How unfortunate, a woman of your talents and skills, left to fend for herself in this world! I admit I am old-fashioned enough to believe that women, nay, all people need protectors._

_You have intrigued me and I believe you could fill a niche for my organization. If you are similarly intrigued by excitement, excellent pay, and benefits that are highly-regarded by those who do not work for me, then let us meet and begin a beautiful friendship!_

_Report on Monday the twenty-fourth, at nine in the evening, to the Volkoff Building in Lubyanka Square, Moscow. If you are late, too bad. So please do not be late._

_(By the way, you wouldn't happen to be any relation to those charming Polish girls who play tennis? They are scrappers!)_

_I await your arrival with impatience. Make sure you bring the gun case with you for our meeting. I wish to see a display of your sniping skills for myself, and I've always found the Bravo an exemplary weapon for such activities, don't you?_

_With warmest regards,_

_Alexei Ivanovich Volkoff_

Sarah slowly put the note back in the envelope, then sat down on the bed, pushing aside the weapons case when it slid into her leg. So this was it. Alexei Volkoff wanted to see her the day after tomorrow.

And she was suddenly very worried.

The last two and a half months, she had been doing nothing but trying to live the life of Sabina Radwanska, ruthless terrorist and assassin. But she had enjoyed plenty of time when she was alone, when she could drop her cover identity and be herself.

Once she stepped foot inside Volkoff Industries, though . . . there would be no breaks. She would have to be Sabina, not Sarah. And she was realizing that she didn't want to be Sabina. Didn't feel ready.

But there was nobody to blame for that but herself. Because she had been so upset with being sent on this assignment, so angry at Graham and so worried about Chuck, that she hadn't prepared to go undercover like she should have. When she had to play a coed for a few hours at a time, strung out over three weeks, she had done three days of intensive research, building her legend and role-playing scenarios. She hadn't done any of that this time. She had taken the sketchy details Graham had given her and then just gone through the motions, trying not to think.

She took a deep breath. If she wanted to survive, she had to know her new identity backwards and forwards. Anything less and she would slip up once she got inside Volkoff.

All was not lost, though. Sarah had two solid days to do research and get ready before her meeting with Volkoff. It was just over two hours to Moscow by air; she could fly out of Ferihegy International Airport here in Budapest on Monday morning to make her afternoon meeting with Volkoff.

The time for self-pity was over. Now she had to work.

Getting up from the bed, Sarah walked over to the closet and bent down to enter the code in the safe. She removed a laptop from the safe and set it up on the small desk. Once the computer was awake and connected to the Internet, she took a few deep breaths and got to work.

When she was in training, Sarah had always enjoyed creating her cover identity's history. It had been kind of fun. But this time, she was very, very serious. Slowly, she put together an idea of who Sabina Radwanska was.

Once upon a time, Sabina had been happy. She had studied languages at the University of Krakow, she had enjoyed camping with her boyfriend, and she had warm memories of life with her parents. But things began to change when her parents were killed in a car accident and her boyfriend turned out to be the son of a Russian mobster. He drew Sabina into his world, a world of bombings and assassinations and cutthroat dealings. It was a world that made so much more sense to Sabina than life as a Polish university student.

When her boyfriend tried to break up with her, Sabina cut off his hands and sent them to his father, who constantly belittled his weak son. Impressed with her, the mobster took her on and trained her, grooming her as a weapon that no one suspected. But after one too many sexual advances, Sabina killed him and went out on her own.

Since then, she had stepped onto a larger stage, one that went beyond the petty business deals of low-level mobsters and into international terrorism. Working for Alexei Volkoff would be a major step up for Sabina and she was determined to make that happen.

By the time Sarah boarded an Aeroflot plane bound for Moscow's Sheremetyevo International Airport, she had become Sabina. Her clothes were tighter but her heels were lower. She had dyed her hair black, to speed up the application of the wig when needed. She had spent the last two days speaking Polish and using a Polish accent when she spoke Russian or English. In a drugstore she had bought several tubes of lipstick and face powder, crafting a look that focused on brick-red lips and pale skin. Completing the look was a pair of aviator sunglasses that she rarely took off.

Thanks to a generous tip to the baggage handlers, the gun case was loaded into the plane's cargo area without the usual paperwork. When the plane landed in Moscow, Sarah picked up the case and provided another tip, then headed into the ancient Russian capital.

She arrived in the city with an hour to spare before her appointment. She found a small restaurant and had blinis and borscht, figuring she might as well enjoy the local food. For a split-second, she thought about how Chuck would have enjoyed picking a restaurant and going over the menu. But then she pushed away that thought. For now, she had to not think about Chuck. Not if she wanted to stay Sabina.

At five minutes to nine, Sarah walked into the lobby of the Volkoff Building. The receptionist took one look at her and whisked her to a private elevator, telling her in Russian-accented English that Mr. Volkoff's assistant would meet her at the top floor.

With a silent nod, Sarah stepped into the elevator and let it carry her to the twenty-ninth floor. During the ride, she cleared her mind and focused on being Sabina. When the doors opened silently, she stepped out and met the promised assistant, who led her to another set of doors and opened them.

Stepping into the room, Sarah looked around. It wasn't as imposing as it could have been; it was actually fairly small. But the large, floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall made the room appear bigger, as well as providing quite a bird's-eye view of Moscow at night.

It appeared to be some kind of office, judging by the desk and sleek computer. Otherwise, the room was bare of any personal effects and empty. She set down the gun case at her side and, although she hated keeping her back to the doors, stood facing the windows. If nothing else, it showed her confidence.

The doors were flung open and a rich voice called out in Russian, "Welcome, welcome!" Then the voice switched to Polish. "Or perhaps you would prefer to speak in your mother tongue?"

Turning slowly, Sarah got her first look at Alexei Volkoff in the flesh. For a terrorist, he did not look very intimidating. Somewhat thickset around the middle, which was camouflaged by an expensive black suit, and graying dark hair, Alexei Volkoff did not appear to be a hands-on arms dealer. But then, being an arms dealer, one didn't need to be hands-on when you had access to the largest inventory of guns in the whole of Russia. And the four burly men who were accompanying him tonight were supposed to up the scary factor, she presumed.

"Thank you, Mr. Volkoff," Sarah said in smooth Polish. "I am flattered that you would use my native tongue. But please, I am more than comfortable conversing in Russian." She promptly switched to Russian as she said, "It is a beautiful, violent language, I have always thought."

The corners of Volkoff's eyes crinkled as he grinned widely at her. "Ah, a girl who thinks as I do." He turned towards his companion, a woman who had hung back until he looked at her. "You have brought me a real live wire, Frost."

"I know what you like, Alexei," the woman named Frost said. She eyed Sarah for a long moment, and Sarah got the sense that the woman was searching for something. Looking for some kind of recognition, almost.

Sarah kept her face blank and her hands clasped in front of herself, staying focused on Volkoff and his men. They had assumed standard flanking positions around her: one beside Volkoff, one on either side of her, and one behind her. It would appear that the sniper test was only one part of this interview.

"So, Ms. Radwanska . . . may I call you Sabina?" Volkoff stepped towards her, peering at her face-perhaps trying to see her eyes through her sunglasses.

"You may, Mr. Volkoff," Sarah said, drawing off the shades. Partly as a show of good faith, but also because it was so dark in the room that she could barely see with the aviators on.

"Wonderful. So, tell me, why do you want to work for me?"

This was her chance. Without hesitating, she slowly unzipped her motorcycle jacket, locking her eyes on the man beside Volkoff. His hand made a small movement towards his own jacket, reaching for a gun. But his hand stopped when he saw the tight black crop top she was wearing underneath the jacket, the one that barely covered her breasts. He smirked, and she could tell from the quiet mutterings that the other three men were paying more attention to her chest than anything else.

Sarah smirked back. This was all too easy.

Reaching under her jacket, she pulled out the tranq guns she had attached there and whipped them out. The man in front of her and to her right were down in a second; the one to the left and behind her were down in three. Then she turned and looked at Volkoff, holding both guns on him.

"Normally, I would not use tranquilizer darts, you understand, Mr. Volkoff," she said softly. "I am not restrained. Yet one hedges one's bets a little, just at the beginning, no?"

Volkoff's smile was wide and beaming. "Well done! And I normally think tranquilizer darts are a waste of a gun. But it was an engaging display. Let us have a seat and we will talk more."

She nodded and lowered the guns slowly, dropping them at her feet and picking up the gun case. "Yes, Mr. Volkoff."

As she followed Volkoff, she walked beside Frost. Sarah glanced at her for a moment, quickly cataloging the middle-aged woman. The name 'Frost' sounded familiar to her, but amidst everything she had learned in the last seventy-two hours, the connection wasn't coming just yet.

Whoever she was, Frost had something about her. She had long brown hair and brown eyes, but there was a definite American tinge to her accent. That was certainly unusual enough-

The realization hit Sarah like a ton of bricks. Somehow, she managed not to show any outward sign of what she had just recalled. But she couldn't help turning her head just a little, so she could get a better look at Frost.

After all, meeting your fiancé's mother was a big deal.

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Theoretically, working for Alexei Volkoff shouldn't have made much of a difference in the life of Sabina Radwanska. She still did courier runs, made deliveries, and threatened delinquent account holders. It was about serving her dues within the organization, she knew. The more prestigious assignments would come, work that was more important. And at that point, she would be more established within the Volkoff organization.

But for Sarah Walker, things were different.

There was no down time now. No opportunities to relax and be herself. She felt like she was watched all the time. It might just be paranoia, but she couldn't shake the feeling. It had only been two weeks and she already had moments where she wanted to lock herself in a bathroom and be alone.

Volkoff had insisted that "Sabina" stay in one of his houses in Moscow. It was home to an assortment of his people: secretaries and bodyguards, sharing a six-bedroom house and taking advantage of a boss's generosity in the crowded, expensive, corrupt housing market of the Russian city. Even with her quickly-gained reputation for keeping to herself, she had to spend some time with the other people in the house. And Sarah didn't trust any of them.

As she took a quick shower, Sarah gave herself a pep talk. She had done undercover work before, although certainly not this deep or for this long. It was understandable that she was having some difficulty adjusting, given how long it had been since she worked undercover. Plus, it had also been over a year since she had worked solo instead of with a team or a partner. She needed to stop beating herself up over how she felt.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined Chuck's hand rubbing against her back, soothing her. She could almost hear him speak in her ear. "Go easy on yourself. You're doing great. Stay safe."

When she opened her eyes, Sarah felt calmer. Ready to take up the mantle of Sabina again. And that was a good thing, since today would be a busy day. There was a package to deliver to Warsaw and an event in St. Petersburg this evening before she would return to Moscow. She didn't know much about tonight's job other than she would be working with Frost.

If the woman was only Volkoff's second in command, Sarah would be gearing up for it, looking for a way to distinguish herself. But adding in that Frost was actually Mary Bartowski and she was determined to perform flawlessly whatever role she was assigned.

It was so strange and amazing that she would find Chuck's mother like this. Just stumbling upon her, without any planning or effort. But this discovery opened up a world of questions. What was Mary doing here? Had she been here for the nearly fifteen years she had been gone from Chuck's life? What was a CIA agent doing working for Alexei Volkoff? Did she want to be there? And the biggest question of all: should she tell Chuck about where his mother was?

While Sarah dressed, she looked at the chunky men's watch that Sabina always wore. With the Morse code transmitter hidden inside one of the dials, she could get a message out. But she knew it would go to Graham, and right now she didn't have any confidence that he would share the information with Chuck. The deputy director would probably feel that telling Chuck would interfere with the investigation into Mary Bartowski and her possible defection-that it would be too dangerous.

With a sigh, Sarah fastened the watch around her wrist. For now, it was more important for her to learn more about Frost. In the long run . . . it might be better for Chuck to not know about his mother's location. Or at least, for him to find out from Sarah herself, when she was done with this mission and could answer all his questions and tell him what she had learned.

She wouldn't send a message yet. It would be better to keep the watch's transmitter for high-priority messages instead of using it to send love notes to her fiancé. Glancing at the watch, she noticed it was time for her to leave and get to the airport. There was a private plane waiting to take her to Warsaw.

The flight to the Polish capital was uneventful. The package was probably some kind of banned or illegal weapon, she thought, from its size. But she certainly didn't ask for any details. She just handed the package over to the contact at the agreed-upon meeting place and got a large bag of cash in return.

Stepping onto the plane afterwards, Sarah saw a large, hulking man sitting in one of the seats, wearing a pair of headphones and chortling at the video playing on the monitor in front of him. When she walked past him and sat in the row of seats across from him, she saw that the movie was something with men in white suits and bowler hats, dancing as they kicked and beat an old man.

The man eyed her for a long moment, watching as Sarah took out a Warsaw paper and started reading it. Then he pulled off his headphones and moved closer to her. "You, I do not know," he said in Russian, his accent thick and lower-class.

"That is correct," she said, turning a page of the newspaper.

"Don't be like that, baby," he said. "Be friendly to Yuri the Gobbler and it pays off."

Yuri the Gobbler? That got her attention, although she kept her expression neutral and on the paper. He was Volkoff's personal bodyguard, someone who had been with him since the beginning. He also had the reputation of eating people. And while she was certain she could take him-he was definitely the all muscle, no strategy type-it wouldn't help her on this assignment if she kicked his ass.

Slowly, Sarah lowered the paper and looked at him. "Am I supposed to be scared? Yuri the Gobbler?"

His grin was half-leer, half-smirk. "Gobbler means many things. You might like some of them, _da_?"

Even though she had been propositioned by countless men over the years, Sarah felt she could confidently say she had never been subjected to such a creepy come-on. But cultivating Volkoff's trusted lieutenant would be a very good idea.

So she folded up her paper and set it aside, then turned to face him. "I'm Sabina. I'm new."

"I like new girls. Especially pretty ones. Mr. Volkoff is so in love with his Frost, he doesn't think of all of us men, who need someone to impress."

Yuri was boastful and cocky. But she also noticed that one of his eyes was a fake one. That was curious.

"And you like impressing girls, Mr. Yuri?" she asked, her voice soft and caressing.

" _Da_ , of course," he said with a grin, spreading his arms wide. "Why else have muscles?"

Sarah let out a soft, airy laugh. "I see."

"You and me, we could have fun tonight, _da_?" He leaned towards her. "Go dancing. I know the best club in St. Petersburg." His eyes ran down her legs in her tight leather pants.

"Another time," she said, feeling very grateful that she had an iron-clad excuse for turning him down. "I'm meeting Frost when the plane lands."

He shuddered. "Frost, she is well-named. Cold bitch."

"To be strong, a woman sometimes must be a bitch," Sarah said. "Perhaps Mr. Volkoff finds that helpful." She paused and shrugged. "But I am new. What do I know?"

"Be careful, new girl," Yuri said, lifting up his headphones and sliding them back on. "Frost would cut out your eye if it helped Mr. Volkoff." He looked at her meaningfully, then turned back to his video.

Now that he wasn't paying attention to her, Sarah let herself lean back slightly in her seat. She picked up the newspaper, more to shield her face as she thought. So Yuri didn't like Frost. It wasn't very surprising; they both held positions of power and depended on Volkoff's trust. That was bound to create friction. Yet Yuri's warning-and his reference to an eye being cut out-made her wonder if he wasn't right about Frost and cutting out an eye.

XXX

There was a car on the tarmac when Sarah stepped out of the plane. She noticed with some surprise that it wasn't a luxury car, but an old Lada Niva off-road vehicle. Frost stood by the car, talking on a cell phone and pacing.

Squaring her shoulders, Sarah walked towards Frost, moving slowly. When she was close enough to hear her conversation, she paused, wondering what she should do. Try to eavesdrop? Or display her loyalty to Volkoff?

Frost, her back to Sarah, talked loudly over the noise of the planes taking off and landing. Sarah could only hear snatches of the conversation, carried on the strong wind gusting through the area.

"-the Norseman must be ready-"

Sarah made a snap judgement. She had to ingratiate herself with Frost-not just for tonight's mission, but if she wanted to stay with Volkoff Industries long enough to learn actual intelligence. So it would be better to show her loyalty and respect for Volkoff and his people.

Nearly stomping her feet, Sarah walked into Frost's line of sight, waiting for the other woman to acknowledge her. When Frost nodded, Sarah hung back, clearly showing that she wasn't trying to eavesdrop.

After a few moments, Frost pocketed her phone and gestured for Sarah to come closer. In Russian, Frost said, "You speak English?"

"Yes, Frost," Sarah said, making sure her Polish accent was noticeable enough to fit with her cover identity.

"Good. Get in the car." Frost turned and opened the driver's side door, so Sarah moved quickly to get into the passenger seat.

Sitting with her hands in her lap, Sarah watched as Frost drove them into St. Petersburg. The older woman stayed silent, clearly not one for small talk. But Sarah didn't mind, since it gave her a chance to observe Frost. To look for any evidence that this really was Chuck's mother.

The age was right. Frost appeared to be in her early to mid-fifties, old enough to have children the same age as Ellie and Chuck. She bore some resemblance to Ellie and Chuck in coloring: brown hair and brown eyes. But . . . but in every other way, Sarah really couldn't see it.

Chuck and Ellie were two of the warmest, kindest, most genuine people she had ever met. Even after his training and work as a spy, Chuck was the same friendly, open man she had met in Mexico. Ellie had welcomed Sarah from the first moment they had met, offering friendship and an open ear. It was thanks to them that she knew what it was to be a good friend.

So how could two such amazing people, overflowing with the milk of human kindness, have come from the woman sitting next to her? Although Sarah knew appearances could be deceiving, and she had only had limited contact with Frost so far, she couldn't help agreeing with Yuri in thinking that Frost was cold.

"You were on the plane with Yuri?"

Frost's voice broke the heavy silence in the car. Sarah nodded. "Yes, I was."

"Good. It'll make it easier to find him if we both know what he looks like." Frost's voice was matter-of-fact.

Looking at her, Sarah waited, not asking any questions. Curiosity didn't just kill cats. But she must have given off an air of someone expecting more information, because Frost sighed heavily. "Yuri has something that Mr. Volkoff wants. We're going to take it back."

"I see," Sarah said.

"Irony of ironies," Frost said under her breath.

Sarah frowned. "I don't understand."

"We're taking Yuri's eyeball." Frost looked over at her, then nodded to the box resting on the floor of the car. "Open that."

As directed, Sarah leaned down and lifted the deceptively heavy box onto the seat in-between herself and Frost. She lifted the lid enough to see two Beretta 92s and a sharp knife.

"Have you ever fired a 92?" Frost asked.

In truth, Sarah had used a wide range of guns, but it had been over three years since she had used a Beretta. So she shook her head. "No, but it's a gun. Aim, breathe, squeeze."

"Not much kick. Trigger takes a lot of pressure to shoot. Adjust accordingly," Frost said, turning the Lada onto Palace Bridge.

"Yes, Frost," Sarah said, craning her neck a little to see where they were going. "Are we going to Vasilyevsky Island?" she asked, referring to the island in the middle of the Neva River, reached by the bridge they were currently on.

Frost looked at her with narrowed eyes. It was hard to tell what that look meant exactly, but Frost's voice was full of disdain when she spoke. Like she was having to explain something to an idiot. "When Yuri is in St. Petersburg, he visits a club in a converted factory located on the island. You will go in and lure him out of the club through the door in the southwest corner of the building. Then we'll take care of him."

It was all she could do not to nibble on her lower lip. Because she knew something that could ruin this plan. "Yuri knows I was meeting you. But you don't want him to know you're in the club, yes?"

"Since he'll immediately suspect that I've been sent to kill him, yes, please find something to tell him that will make him think I'm not here," Frost snapped.

She nearly winced. Frost really did live up to her name: cold and cutting.

To give herself something to do, Sarah pulled off her trench coat. She needed her outfit to be more appropriate for a woman going clubbing. Her leather pants would be fine, but her black long-sleeved utility shirt covered up too much skin.

Yanking the shirt over her head, Sarah gave thanks that she had put a black tank top on under the utility shirt. She dropped the shirt on top of her trench, then rolled up the tank to just underneath her breasts, knotting the excess fabric and rolling it underneath the makeshift hem. Not only was her midriff revealed, but the top was now tight over her breasts.

"Obvious, but sure to be effective," Frost said dryly. "You'll need a weapon, though."

"I have a throwing knife in each boot heel," Sarah said, taking down her hair and running her fingers through the artificial strands. "But I can get Yuri out of the club without needing one."

"Women like you don't last long in this line of work," Frost said, casually scraping the Lada against a BMW as she parked it on a small, dark street.

Sarah looked at Frost. "What do you mean, women like me?" There was an edge to her voice that Sarah didn't quite understand. But she was so utterly confused by this woman. Confused by who she might be and what she was telling Sarah. Or, in truth, what she was telling Sabina.

Frost looked at her as she picked up the Berettas, sliding them underneath her long leather jacket. "When your tits and ass fall, you'll have to find some way to eat. You're young, you think you'll be beautiful forever, think you'll live forever. It doesn't last." She paused, then picked up the knife and slid it up the arm of her jacket. "Think like a man if you want to last, Radwanska."

Through the twenty-five years of her life, Sarah had faced a lot of criticism. Her father had never held back when he thought she had screwed up. CIA trainers were from the same class as drill sergeants, and her first handlers hadn't been much better. Graham had certainly expressed his disappointment in her several times. But no one had ever sized her up and cut her down so efficiently and brutally before.

She had to remember that Frost was talking about Sabina, not Sarah. She had to remember that. This wasn't Chuck's mother hating on her son's fiancée. This was about Frost disliking a new employee.

Lifting her chin, she pinned Frost with her gaze, then held out her hand. "Give me one of the guns."

"And where are you going to hide it?" Frost said tartly before yanking out one of the Berettas.

Snatching up her trench, Sarah gave Frost an annoyed look. "Where do you think?" Within a moment, she had hidden the gun at the small of her back and pulled her trench coat back on.

"Meet me outside the southwest door in twenty minutes," Sarah said, reaching for the door handle. She held her head high and her shoulders back as she stepped out of the car and walked towards the club.

The air was chilly, its cold fingers finding a way in through her trench and running over her bare skin. But she didn't feel it. She was too angry, too furious to notice. Perhaps Frost meant it as a correction for her, advice that would improve herself. But no, Sarah was pretty sure the woman just wanted to slam her. To make her feel small and cheap and insignificant.

While Frost had managed to do just that, that wasn't going to keep her from doing her job. She was going to find Yuri and then she would take care of him. She would get that eyeball and prove that Sabina Radwanska was more than a pair of tits and an ass.

At the door to the club, the bouncer eyed her. She quickly spread her coat open wide, displaying her body for him. He smirked and stepped aside to let her in. She gave him her best sultry smile before closing her coat and brushing past him.

It was your typical factory converted into a nightclub: flashing strobe lights, deafening music, women with too little clothing and men with too much fat. It was the kind of place she had been to before, when she was in training and learning how to seduce a mark, how to blend in while on assignment. She knew she could do this. She just had to stay focused.

As she sauntered through the club, looking for Yuri, Sarah knew that she was probably playing right into Frost's hands. And even worse, she was slipping into the role that Langston Graham had always wanted for her: his enforcer. That was why he had fast-tracked her through training, mentoring her through the years. But when she had fallen for Chuck and become part of his team, Graham's plans had been derailed. So he had just waited for the right opportunity, and now, here she was. Dressed in skimpy clothes, ready to knife some terrorist in a Russian club.

Sighing, she grabbed a drink from a passing waitress's tray and downed it. Now wasn't the time to think about all this. She had a man to find and an eyeball to cut out.

When she lowered the glass, she spotted Yuri. He was sitting in a roomy booth along the back wall, a mixed group of women and men sharing the booth with him. He was only fifteen feet from the door where Frost was waiting. Perhaps things were looking up. She just had to get through this and then, within a few hours, she would be back in Moscow, in her little room, where she could close her eyes and try, for a little while, to remember just who Sarah Walker was.

Sarah walked up to Yuri and feigned a nonchalant attitude. "Mr. Yuri? Remember me?"

Yuri looked up at her, his mouth twisting. "You're not really dressed for this place, new girl."

"I only let special people look." She undid the belt of her trench and once again opened the coat for a brief moment. His eyes weren't the only ones crawling over her. Then she gave him a small smirk and closed up the coat. "And only very special people get to touch." She paused and tilted her head. "Which are you, Mr. Yuri?"

He smirked. "Nicely done, new girl." He narrowed his eyes. "I thought you were meeting the Ice Queen tonight."

Shrugging her shoulders, Sarah sat next to him. "She told me to beat it. And your suggestion earlier sounded so good, I made a few calls and found you."

"You should have just taken me up on my offer earlier, then we could have had more fun," he said, his hand resting heavily on her shoulder.

"The night's still young. Plenty of time for fun," she said, moving so that his hand slid from her shoulder down over the lapel of her jacket, coming within inches of her breast.

He raised his eyebrows. "I think I know why Frosty the Bitch didn't want you around." He leaned in towards her, whispering in her ear. "You're too damn hot-you'd melt her."

Her skin was crawling slightly. She was so tired of the sex kitten act. Tired of doing what a woman in this situation was expected to do: use her looks and her sex appeal to lure a man in before killing him. This wasn't what Sabina Radwanska would do. It was ridiculous that she would resort to such cheap tricks when she could take Yuri down. The thought of smashing her boot heel into his knee, crushing his windpipe with her fist, and making his blood run . . . it was so tempting.

Focus. She had to stay focused.

Turning away from Yuri, she grabbed the first drink she saw on the table and drank it quickly. The liquor burned on the way down, but it gave her clarity. She needed to get out of here. This job needed to be done, so she could get away and regroup.

She turned her head and spoke into his ear. "Actually . . . Mr. Volkoff called me with a very important job. Something he didn't want Frost to know about."

"You move fast, new girl. You gonna toss out Frost and take her place?" Yuri asked, grinning widely.

"Maybe," she said with a Mona Lisa smile. "You want to find out what Mr. Volkoff wanted?"

Yuri brushed her hair back, his fingers touching her neck. " _Da_ , new girl."

Sarah stood up and crooked her finger. "This way, then."

The other men at the table smirked, one even giving Yuri a high five as he got up and followed her. Sarah walked slowly, her hands in her coat pockets and her eyes locked on the southwest door. Nearly there . . .

"Is Mr. Volkoff waiting for us?" Yuri asked as he caught up with her.

"Mmm-hmm," she said. "Just outside this door," she said, gesturing ahead of them towards the exit. "We better hurry."

Yuri nodded and put his hand on the doorknob, pulling the door open. Sarah let him go first, pulling out the Beretta and holding it on his back.

The old factory that housed the nightclub butted up hard against the Bolshaya Neva River; there was only a thin patch of weeds for about twenty yards before the retaining wall that held back the waters. There was no moon and little ambient light, so it took Sarah's eyes a moment to adjust.

"Mr. Volkoff?" the bodyguard said, stepping away from the club.

"Sorry, Yuri." Frost stepped out of the shadows, her gun out.

From behind him, Sarah could see his whole body tense. He turned, as if ready to go back into the club, but Sarah cocked the Beretta in her hands. Then he sighed heavily. "Twenty years of loyalty get me this?"

Frost shrugged. "Looks like Alexei has decided it's better to have Hydra in a computer after all," she said, her voice quietly triumphant.

Hydra? What was that?

Before Sarah could mull over the question much longer, Yuri lashed out. For a big man, he moved quickly-fast enough to get his hands around Frost's throat and begin choking her. Without any delay, Sarah aimed and squeezed the trigger. As Frost had indicated, it did take more pressure than she had expected, making her first shot hit in the middle of his back instead of in his kidney. She let off two more shots, hitting her targets: the kidney and the back of his head.

The body dropped and Frost stepped away, coughing a little as she regained her breath. "Told you to adjust."

"Clearly, I did," Sarah said, sliding the gun into the pocket of her trench. She yanked a knife out of her boot and walked over, turning over the corpse. "Which eye?"

"Left," Frost said shortly. It might have been Sarah's imagination, but she thought there was the slightest, tiniest hint of warmth in Frost's voice. But then she was cutting into Yuri's eye socket and she had to pay attention to that.

XXX

After that assignment, things started to change. Somehow, she had managed to sway Frost slightly, enough that the other woman's hatred mellowed into extreme disdain. But Sabina started getting jobs that required more than just threats. There was actual physical punishment. And also, there were parties.

Volkoff liked to press the flesh at various parties and events. He liked to have Frost and a few of his higher-ups attend with him, all to present an image of culture and sophistication. To Sarah, it just made him even more intimidating. It made you understand the phrase "the banality of evil."

Now that Yuri was gone, Volkoff seemed to be trying out new bodyguards. But at formal events, something more subtle was called for, apparently.

"There's a cocktail party tomorrow night in Barcelona," Frost explained. "Alexei wants you there to protect him."

Sarah nodded, setting aside the gun she was cleaning. "Of course, Frost."

The woman threw a credit card down on the table next to the disassembled gun. "Pick out something black and inconspicuous. Keep an eye on Alexei, mingle, and don't stay longer than an hour. ETA parties are too dangerous otherwise."

"So you won't be attending?" Sarah asked, handing the card back to Frost. "I will keep Mr. Volkoff safe. And I have a dress."

Frost sniffed but took the card back. "Fine. The jet will leave tomorrow morning. Grigori will go with you, to organize everything," she said, naming one of Volkoff's army of personal assistants/bodyguards.

"Yes, Frost," Sarah said, returning to her gun as she mentally rearranged her day. It was true, she did have a dress. One that would work fine for the event. An event that she couldn't help looking forward to.

Ever since she and Frost had returned with Yuri's eyeball, it had been three weeks of hard, messy jobs. Although nothing had compared to what she had felt on that mission, she supposed it mostly had to do with not working with Frost. The woman definitely wasn't her biggest fan, Sarah thought as she slowly brushed the inside of her gun barrel.

But what did it matter? She had clearly passed some kind of test with Frost and now she was getting better jobs. Plus, she was now positioned better to pick up scraps of intel. There was word floating around Volkoff Industries that there was some kind of big, important meeting happening in about a month. A meeting that would really change things, so she had heard.

Sarah was determined to be in that meeting. She had a sneaking suspicion that it would be about Fulcrum, about this shadowy Director and his plans for the terrorist organization, and the role that Volkoff and his company would play in the future. If she was there, it could be just what was needed to take down Volkoff, Fulcrum, the whole lot.

Being asked to serve as his bodyguard at a party was a feather in her cap. And it would be as close to downtime as she could get. So she was going to savor the potential in this assignment, to eat tapas and not having to kill anyone.

The next evening, Sarah rested her hand lightly on Alexei Volkoff's arm as they stepped into an apartment in La Pedrera. The flats in the historic building were large and open, full of curving walls and intimate balconies-a good setting for a cocktail party attended by terrorists. She was wearing a form-fitting black dress, with sleeves to her wrists and a skirt to the ground. It allowed her to have throwing knives up her sleeves and two guns in ankle and thigh holsters. Plus, it let her blend in.

Volkoff, who had been talking her ear off the whole time, smiled brightly at her. "Now, Ms. Radwanska, I'm afraid I'll have to do some flirting tonight. No running off and telling tales to my Frost, eh?"

"Not at all, Mr. Volkoff," she said, giving him a small smile. "And neither will Grigori, I'm sure." She nodded to the assistant, who was standing on the other side of Volkoff.

"Fantastic!" Volkoff said, lifting her hand from his arm. "Why don't you go get us some drinks?"

She nodded. "Of course, sir." Sarah turned, her long ponytail brushing against her back as she headed towards the bar. The small crowd parted slightly, enough for her to slip up to the bar and order the drinks.

Casually, Sarah leaned back against the bar, looking around the room. It was filled with a collection of men in tuxedos and women in sparkly short dresses. Already, the room was feeling stuffy and she wished for some fresh air. Perhaps she could step out onto one of the balconies for a moment . . .

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Volkoff deep in conversation with a short, middle-aged man who was nibbling on a coca. Grigori was by Volkoff's side, his eyes alert. This might be her only chance. So Sarah didn't hesitate as she walked towards the balcony by the end of the bar and stepped outside.

The air was warm and fragrant, the evening hour advanced enough that most of the day's heat had escaped. Of course, late May was a good bit warmer in Spain than it was in Russia. Sarah found herself smiling as she breathed deeply.

There were a few soft clinks, like the sound of something metal hitting stone. Instantly on alert, she looked around and realized that there were two black-clad figures rappelling down the side of the building. And they would nearly be on top of her in a moment.

Sarah pulled out her knives, holding them at the ready as the feet, then the legs and torsos of the men dropped below the edge of the balcony above her. They could be assassins, they could be rival arms dealers hoping to get a cut of the action, they could be-

Her knives dropped to the balcony when the rest of the men eased into view. She pressed a hand against her mouth, knowing that her eyes were the size of saucers.

So were the men's eyes. Because it was Chuck and Bryce.

For a long, endless moment, she stared at Chuck. Wondering if perhaps she might be hallucinating. Then, in a move that had no grace at all, Chuck pulled himself up and got over the railing of the balcony to stand in front of her, stumbling a bit over his line.

She nearly started laughing hysterically. "What-what are you doing here?" she asked in a hushed voice, as Bryce joined them on the balcony, sweeping his eyes around.

"Staking out this party thrown by the ETA," Chuck said, his voice low and soft and wonderful. He reached out slowly, pausing just before his fingers made contact with her cheek.

Something about having him nearly touching her made everything inside her crack. She couldn't hold herself back. Wrapping her arms around him tightly, Sarah held Chuck for all she was worth, unable to believe how lucky she was. He was here. Warm and whole, not moping in Burbank or losing his faith in them.

His arms were just as tight around her, his hands lightly stroking her back just in the way she'd imagined him doing a hundred times since she had left him. "Shhhh, baby," he said into her hair.

After feeling ready to laugh just a moment ago, now she felt like crying. Her emotions were all over the place, leaving her trembling and clinging. She just needed to hold him for as long as she could, until she could figure out what to tell him. Until she had wrestled, once again, with her discovery of just where his mother was.

"Guys, I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to make the reunion fast. We've only got two minutes to spare," Bryce said, his voice sounding regretful. He shifted, turning his back to them and giving them what privacy was possible on the small balcony.

With only two minutes available to them, Sarah knew that telling him about his mother was out. She felt a stab of guilt: maybe she didn't love him enough if she was willing to hold back on something he was so desperate to know, in order to have what little time they had for themselves.

Sarah pulled back and looked at Chuck, really looked at him. There were signs of tiredness on his face, but he appeared to be getting enough sleep and wasn't too thin. She stroked his hair. "You're okay? Really?"

He nodded. "I mean . . . I have bad days. But yeah, I'm okay." His eyes were soft and a bit sad, but so full of a luminous hope that she felt breathless.

"Me, too," she said softly, twisting her fingers a little in his hair. "But nothing's changed. We're going to have our wedding as soon as I'm done and . . . and everything will be perfect." Her voice broke a little on the last word, and she could feel tears threaten.

Chuck brushed a soft, light, adoring kiss over her temple. "It's okay," he said gently. "I know. It will be. We'll make it perfect. Just a little longer, S-" He cut himself off, looking around worriedly.

Standing on tiptoe, she leaned in close to him. "Say my name?" she asked, needing to hear it. Needing the reminder of just who she was.

And like always, Chuck seemed to know what she was feeling, what she needed. Because he moved his lips to her ear and whispered, just barely audible, "Sarah Walker. The future Mrs. Bartowski."

She gave him a big smile, because it had been so long since she had smiled at him and she wished that they didn't have just thirty seconds left. Because there was so much to say and no time to say it.

He ran his hand lightly over her hair, then gently cupped the back of her head. She knew what he was doing. He was leaning in for a kiss. And although all her reason was screaming out why this was a bad idea, she didn't care. She needed a kiss.

It was like the first time they had kissed, on the beach in Mexico. It was the kiss on the day he graduated from Project Omaha training. It was the kiss she gave him right before he got the Intersect. It was like the time they had kissed in Barstow, taking the first step to repair the rift between them. It was the kiss when they had gotten engaged. It was their last kiss before she left on this mission.

It was all that and more, because it was all they had. This stolen moment, the first time they had seen each other in nearly three months, was all they had.

All she wanted was to kiss him forever, but the sound of Bryce's voice cut through the reverie.

"Chuck, we have to go."

With every bit of her strength, she let the kiss end and stepped back from him. She swallowed, looking at him and knowing he was hurting just as much as she was. And she didn't want him to hurt, so she did her best to smile at him. "I have to get back inside."

"Okay," he said, his hands lightly stroking her upper arms. His voice sounded a bit shaky. "You know, this is kinda like I'm cheating on you with you."

Was there was anyone else in the world that might have come up with that idea in this moment? Sarah doubted it. She couldn't help laughing softly before she reached up to wipe away the lipstick from his mouth. "Be careful."

"Always," Chuck said. "And that goes double for you. I love you." He quickly kissed her cheek and climbed over the railing, following Bryce.

"I love you, too," she said softly, watching them go. Wishing she could just go with them. But instead, she leaned down, picked up her knives, and went back into the party, where there was no sign that her absence had been noticed by the murderous arms dealer she was protecting.

And as she spent the rest of the night mingling and sipping a drink, Sarah realized that she needed to find a way to tell Chuck about his mother. Not just because he deserved to know or because she wanted him to reconsider his search for his mother. But because she couldn't do this alone. She needed help.

She needed Chuck.

End, Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

Chuck Bartowski was man enough to admit when he was scared or upset or unhappy. He had always been sensitive and emotional. Usually, when he was working, he could find a way to think clearly enough to do his job and not be a basketcase.

This was not one of those times.

If it wasn't for Bryce, he might have just sat down in a corner and rocked back and forth. Sarah was here, in this very building! He'd gotten two minutes with her, which wasn't nearly enough for everything he had to say to her. It wasn't enough time to soothe the sadness he saw in her eyes, ease the emptiness he sensed inside her. And two minutes definitely wasn't enough time to hold her and kiss her and be close to her again, even if she didn't really look like his Sarah right now.

But that was the point. She couldn't be Sarah now. She was whatever her cover identity was. He had badgered Graham and even tried hacking his way into the CIA databases to find out what Sarah's cover name was, but he hadn't been able to find it.

"This way," Bryce said, pulling Chuck along through the corridors. "C'mon, buddy, I need you to override the locks so we can get into the parking garage."

He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, okay." Chuck fumbled in his utility belt, pulling out a screwdriver and his cell phone to crack the electronic lock. He pried off the keypad and clipped the cell phone to the lock's wires, letting the phone unscramble the combination.

"I'm sorry you couldn't have more time," Bryce said quietly, his gun out as he covered the corridor.

"I know," Chuck said, glancing at Bryce quickly. "I'm trying to tell myself that at least I got to see her, but . . ."

Bryce nodded in understanding, not needing Chuck to finish the sentence. The lock clicked and Chuck pushed the door open, sliding the cell phone back into his belt pouch. He drew his gun and stepped slowly into the garage, Bryce following him.

"Let's find a car and get out of here," Bryce said, his eyes sweeping around the lines of luxury and sports cars.

"You said it," Chuck said, stopping by a Mercedes. He was ready to break into it, when Bryce let out a soft whistle.

"Forget the Mercedes-let's take this one."

"What?" Chuck asked, turning around and seeing Bryce gazing at a sleek Lotus, his expression bordering on disturbing.

"A Lotus? Seriously?" Chuck asked, walking over to join Bryce.

"I've wanted to drive one of these since I saw _Pretty Woman_."

While Chuck was grateful for Bryce getting him through this mission, he had to wonder if his friend was overdoing it a little. Trying to keep Chuck's spirits up by acting ridiculous. On the other hand, right now this was about the only thing that was keeping him from basketcasing, so . . .

"You've seen _Pretty Woman_?" Chuck asked, putting some extra astonishment in his voice.

Bryce rolled his eyes. "Girl I dated in high school loved it. Probably should have realized sooner what that meant. C'mon, let's take this one."

"Okay, okay," Chuck said, working to disengage the lock. After a moment, the locks popped and Bryce grinned widely before pulling open the driver's door. Chuck hurried to get in through the passenger door before Bryce pulled out.

They shot out of the garage, Bryce driving smoothly-although really fast-through the streets of Barcelona. Chuck leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes.

Sarah had looked tired. Not in a noticeable way, except to someone like him, someone who knew her face better than his own. Because he didn't like looking at his face, but he loved looking at Sarah. But more than how she looked was how she had acted. How tightly she held him, her whole body trembling. The way she had burrowed in against him, needing comfort and support. It was because of that, more than anything else, that he wished they could have had longer together.

He was really worried about her. About what it was going to be like when she came back. He refused to think she wouldn't come back to him-not his Sarah. But what if, by the time the job was done, she wasn't quite herself anymore? If something special that made her into Sarah Walker got . . . broken?

No matter what, he'd stand by her. If she needed him, he would be there. Always. Nothing would change that-

Oh, God. What if she changed so much that she didn't want him anymore? What if she didn't want to be with him? Chuck felt himself breath harder, his fists clenching. Could he do that? Could he let her go, let go of all the dreams he had about getting married and having kids with her?

"Chuck?"

The weight of Bryce's hand on his shoulder snapped Chuck out of his stupor. He felt so dazed and scared and frantic with worry that his words just tumbled out without any kind of filter. "Bryce-Bryce, what if Sarah changes and she doesn't want to get married when she's done at Volkoff's?"

"That's crazy!" Bryce looked at Chuck for a second before returning his eyes to the road. "She's not going to change her mind."

"How do you know? You don't know her like I do and she's going through something so hard right now-she could end up a completely different person!"

Bryce blew out a breath and looked around them, before pulling the car into a side street and parking by the curb. Then he turned to look at Chuck. "Seriously, Chuck. She's not going to change her mind. I saw the way she looked at you. You're all that's getting her through this."

"Have you ever worked undercover?" Chuck stopped and rubbed his eyes. "Of course you have. That's what you were doing for the year before you came here."

"Yeah . . ." Bryce said quietly.

"Was it awful?" Chuck asked, looking at Bryce. "Having to hide who you really were?"

He looked out through the windshield, his jaw working a little. "You want the comforting answer or the honest one?"

While Chuck appreciated Bryce giving him a choice, it just made him worry all the more. Especially since he wanted the truth. The full, unvarnished truth, even though it would hurt like hell. "The honest one."

"It sucked," Bryce said bluntly. "You're on guard all the time, trying to be another person, trying not to slip up. You second-guess yourself all the time. And no matter how much you compartmentalize, shoving your real self down deep . . . you can get hurt in ways you never imagined."

Each word was like a punch to the gut. Chuck swallowed and rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans. "But-but you don't think Sarah will change her mind?"

"Long-term undercover assignments, they mess with your head a bit. If some part of your life wasn't good before, it's easy to cut ties after you get back." Bryce paused, as if to let his words sink in. "But you and Sarah? You were completely, one hundred percent rock solid when she left. I don't really see her changing her mind about you. She's probably worrying that you're the one who's gonna change his mind."

"What?!" Chuck said, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

"C'mon, Chuck, do I have to spell it out to you?" Bryce shifted in his seat and started up the car. "She's undercover. She's not Sarah right now. How do you think she's gonna feel when she comes back?"

As Bryce drove them towards the remote location outside the city where their supplies were stashed, Chuck thought over his friend's words. Was that something Sarah was worried about? Did she think about losing him as much as he thought about losing her?

Of course she did, Chuck told himself. He had never doubted Sarah's feelings for him. Even in those dark days last year, he knew how much she cared about him. And in the last few months, ever since they had gotten engaged . . . there had been no question that they were happy together. Even when the situation wasn't great, like during his fake relationship with Jill, Sarah had shown that she loved him.

But why would she think he would want to back out on the wedding, that he would no longer care about her? Just because she was undercover?

When the answer came to him, he practically groaned. Some genius he was.

It wasn't because she was undercover. It was where she was doing her undercover assignment: deep inside Volkoff Industries, an amoral company run by an evil terrorist. An unstable, unpredictable man held her life in the palm of his hand, and Sarah had to do his bidding. She probably had done things she wasn't proud of already-things she wouldn't do if she had a choice. And yeah, you could play semantics and say that you always had a choice, but in the real world, that wasn't true.

If Sarah wanted to survive, she had to become her cover identity. And that meant beating up people whether they deserved it or not, stealing things that she didn't want to steal . . . even killing people.

The shame and guilt and disappointment must be crippling, Chuck thought. Already, the weight of such feelings was dragging Sarah down, if their short reunion was anything to judge by. When she came back, she would need all the love and support and attention he could give her.

And he would. He would give her whatever she needed. But he wouldn't let her push him away out of her guilt. He'd stand by her. He'd be strong for her, just like she had been strong for him so many times already.

He loved her. And he would make her see that he loved her no matter what.

XXX

It was nearly two weeks later that Chuck and Bryce finally got back to Burbank. Their assignment in Spain, to monitor the ETA and determine if another potential cease-fire might be in the planning stages, hadn't gone well. So they were both in the doghouse when they returned to California.

Chuck didn't really care much. It had been Bryce keeping things going ever since Sarah left, bullying and pushing Chuck into accepting various missions. He knew what Bryce was doing: trying to help him keep his mind occupied, keep him from worrying. And it was helping, and Chuck was grateful to him. Bryce had really become his friend again, giving him someone he could talk to about being a spy, someone who had known him for years before he'd ever heard of the Intersect or Project Omaha.

So it was good to have Bryce's support during all this. But he just wanted Sarah back.

It was early in the morning when Chuck walked into the office. It was hard for him to sleep in the apartment without Sarah, so he figured he'd come in and get started on some work. Sipping his venti coffee, Chuck settled in to go through the intelligence reports he had been sent over the last two weeks, expanding what was in the Intersect with more recent information. He flashed a few times, but since none of the flashes were of the large infodump nature, his head was doing okay.

Work helped. In fact, when Bryce came in a few hours later, a strange look on his face, Chuck was so entranced in a report that it took him a moment to realize something was up.

Pushing back from his computer, he rolled his desk chair closer to Bryce, who was sitting on the edge of the conference table. "Bryce? What is it?"

"We have to go to Toronto."

"What?" Chuck asked, feeling confused. "Toronto?"

Bryce nodded. "I have a drop there. I set it up when I got transferred to the Toronto office and I kept it going afterwards because I had used it with some of my Fulcrum contacts. I got a call this morning that something's waiting for me there."

"Sounds to me that it's just you who has to go to the Great White North, not both of us," Chuck said. But his attempt at humor fell very flat when he took a good look at Bryce.

"Chuck, whatever it is, it's addressed to you." Bryce paused and licked his lips. "I think it could be from Sarah."

He got up so quickly that his desk chair tipped over. "How . . . ?"

"I told her the code name that I had used when I worked with Fulcrum. It was months ago, before there was any idea she was going to get sent undercover," Bryce said, hurrying to keep up with Chuck as he headed towards the parking garage.

"Sarah's got an almost photographic memory," Chuck said, fighting with himself to slow down. "If you told her, she remembered."

"Yeah," Bryce said. "It looks like she must have gotten someone to leave something at my dead drop, and the guy who checks it for me sent me a message to say I had something to pick up."

Chuck shook his head, feeling a huge swell of pride and hope and relief. "That's my fiancée. And she thinks I'm the genius."

"Clearly, she doesn't know about you and biochemistry," Bryce joked.

Grinning at Bryce, Chuck shook his head. "Nope. C'mon!"

Before this turn of events, Chuck would have been glad to not see the inside of an airport for a long time. But now, he couldn't get to LAX fast enough. There was more waiting than he would have liked, but within eight hours they were pulling up to the location of Bryce's dead drop: a Tim Hortons in a gentrifying part of the city.

"Have a seat. You want a coffee?" Bryce asked.

"Yeah, but make it decaff," Chuck said, rubbing his eyes a little. He'd drunk so much coffee today that he felt like he was vibrating.

Slumping down in a molded plastic seat near a window, Chuck gazed outside, watching a mix of pedestrians and loiterers. The initial rush of adrenaline had faded, leaving him with more questions than answers. What was so important that Sarah had risked her cover in order to tell him something? There were so many ways that this could have backfired on her, yet she had somehow sent him a message.

Also, why hadn't he thought of this? Of finding some way for them to stay in touch, in case of emergencies? Sure, she had the Morse code transmitter in her watch, but those messages would be sent to Graham. He could understand Sarah not wanting to use it. Besides, any kind of long message wouldn't be easy to send in that manner.

He didn't think she would go through all this trouble just to tell him she missed him, but if it was so important that she broke protocol, why wouldn't she send word to Graham?

The emotional upheaval was making him feel like his mind was stuck in molasses. He was so tired. He just wanted Sarah back. With Sarah, life would begin making sense again.

The thud of donuts and coffees hitting the table made Chuck look at Bryce. Then he boggled at the amount of food in front of them. There was a large container emblazoned with the word Timbits and pictures of doughnut holes, as well as a half-dozen doughnuts beside the two paper cups of coffee on a tray. "Are we eating all this?"

"You might not be interested, but I'm going to try," Bryce said, giving Chuck a small grin. "Tim Hortons was all I missed about Canada. I'm a bit sad I missed out on Roll Up the Rim this year."

Chuck blinked, then shook his head and picked up the coffee that Bryce had pushed across the table to him. "I'm hoping that you'll make more sense after this."

"Have an apple fritter," Bryce said, taking a doughnut out of the box and sliding it over to Chuck. He leaned forward a little and whispered to Chuck, "The package is inside the Timbits box."

It took all his training not to immediately look at the Timbits box. Or just grab it and rip it open to see what Sarah had sent him. To get some answers to his questions, hopefully without creating several new questions.

The doughnut did smell good . . . and in all the hurry, the only food they'd had was pretzels on the plane. So Chuck somehow found enough patience to eat his apple fritter doughnut, which was good enough that he followed it up with a maple one.

"This is kinda like college," Bryce said, licking his fingers as he finished his second odd-looking doughnut, some raisin-filled concoction that Bryce called a Dutchie. "Sitting around, eating at weird hours . . ."

Chuck nodded as he finished his coffee. "Like during finals week, fall of junior year. When we lived on Red Vines."

"God, that was gross," Bryce said, smiling a little. He leaned back in his seat, sipping his second cup of coffee. "It's late. We should probably get a room and fly back tomorrow."

"Yeah," Chuck said, letting his eyes move to the Timbits box for a moment. He looked back at Bryce and tried to smile. "We'll have to come up with more excuses to come through Canada, if you like this place so much."

"They're not just in Canada, although I will say the coffee tastes better up here." Bryce stood up, picking up the doughnut box. "Grab the Timbits and I'll toss our cups."

After waiting so long, Chuck didn't have to be told twice. He managed to hold off on ripping open the box until they were in the car and Bryce was driving them towards Toronto Pearson International Airport and the nearby complex of hotels.

"You should wait until we're out of the open," Bryce said lightly.

"Sorry," Chuck said, not really sorry at all. He quickly opened up the paper container and blinked when he saw nothing but doughnut holes. Plunging his hand into the box, he started rooting around. When his fingers brushed against a USB drive, he couldn't help the "Hi-yo!" that burst out of him.

"Found it?"

He held up the USB drive, blowing on it to remove any stray sugar particles deposited onto the drive from the doughnut holes. "Yep. I'll pop it into my computer once we're in the hotel."

Bryce picked up the pace and soon they had checked into a hotel. Chuck barely waited for the door to be closed and locked behind them before he was opening his laptop and sticking the USB drive into the appropriate port.

The wait for the drive to be read by the computer felt endless. But within twenty seconds, a window displayed, showing that there was one file on the drive.

His fingers trembling a little, Chuck double-clicked on the file and leaned back in surprise as a video window appeared, Sarah in freeze-frame on the screen. He quickly hit the play button and moved his face close to the monitor, taking her in.

It looked like she had made the video with a webcam; few details of the room were visible behind her due to the low lighting. Sarah's face took up nearly the whole screen and her voice was hushed.

"I . . . I really hope this gets to you," she said softly. "I don't even want to think about the chance I'm taking, but-but I didn't get to tell you this when I saw you last, on the balcony, and this is something you need to know."

Sarah paused and looked down, her now-dark hair falling over her face. He couldn't get used to the jet-black strands. It looked so wrong on her, washing out her skin tone and making her eyes seem almost slate-blue; it underscored how different she had become for this assignment.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah looked back at the camera. "I think your mother is here."

What?

Chuck felt a shockwave go through him. His mother-Mary Elizabeth Bartowski, the woman who read him fairy tales and tucked him in-was in Russia? Was she Volkoff's prisoner? Or was she-

"I'm not sure, because . . . because we don't exactly get along, but I think she's the Frost that is Volkoff's second in command," Sarah said, her voice a bit halting. "The age is right, she's got the right coloring, she's American, and there's the code name."

She nibbled a little on her lower lip. "I'm going to try and find out more, but I thought you should know." Sarah gazed at the camera, her eyes sad. "I thought about telling you when I saw you, but I was too selfish . . . I wanted that moment to be for us and I knew telling you this would take up all the time and-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby."

There were tears in Sarah's eyes. Chuck reached out and touched the screen, wishing he could touch her. Wishing that he could brush away the tears and reassure her and tell her it was going to be okay. Even in the midst of this bombshell, he couldn't stop worrying about Sarah.

For a moment, she turned away and all he could see was her hair. Then he heard her take a deep breath and look back at the camera, her face more composed. "From what I can tell, Frost has been working for Volkoff for over fifteen years. There's rumors that he's in love with her, but I don't know about that. She's . . ."

Sarah's voice trailed off. She looked torn about what to say, then she continued. "She's not innocent in all this. I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to find out. And if she doesn't want to be here, if she's like me . . . I'm going to get her out. For you."

He could feel his face going pale. "No, Sarah! Don't!"

"She can't hear you, buddy," Bryce said gently, resting a hand on Chuck's shoulder.

"I know," Chuck said, swallowing. He leaned in again, watching as Sarah glanced away from the camera for a moment before looking back, her voice more clipped as she spoke again.

"I have to go," Sarah said. "I really hope you get this message and that the dead drop is still open." She paused and her face changed, growing softer. She mouthed the words "I love you" to the camera, and then the video ended.

Almost without thought, Chuck reached forward to replay the video. He watched it again, trying not to get caught up in the emotion on display. When he started to watch it for a third time, Bryce reached over and stopped the video.

Chuck turned and glared at him. "I need to watch that."

"No, you don't. At least not now," Bryce said. "You're wallowing. You've been wallowing ever since Sarah left." Chuck opened his mouth to protest, but Bryce cut him off. "With good reason. But it's time to stop doing that. You've got to keep going-with work and with the wedding plans."

"If you're aiming to lose another fight, keep going," Chuck said, feeling his anger grow as he reminded Bryce about their knock-down fight a few months ago, the one that had started repairing their friendship. But right now, Chuck didn't understand why his friend was doing thsi. Why was Bryce pushing him? He thought Bryce had gotten over his whole James Bond routine.

"It was a draw last time. And you know I'm right, or else you wouldn't be getting angry," Bryce said, folding his arms across his chest. "Chuck, you really think this might be the only time you and Sarah have to work apart? You've been spoiled so far, but it's time for you to grow up and accept that yeah, this sucks, but this is life. Sarah can't sit around and mope-why should you?"

If he punched Bryce, Chuck would just be proving Bryce's point about his lack of maturity. And honestly, he didn't want to punch Bryce. He wasn't about violence, not really. He just hated this whole damn situation and wanted it to be over.

With a sigh, Chuck rubbed his hands over his face. Bryce was probably right. He had been acting like a kid who hadn't gotten his way. He'd barely done anything for the wedding and he'd been less of a partner and more of a dead weight. If Sarah could see him, she would be disappointed in him. And she would be mad.

He looked at Bryce. "Sorry."

Thanks to all that Connecticut breeding, Bryce knew how to accept an apology. He nodded and gave Chuck a grin. "Welcome back. Let's go get some dinner and we can figure out what to do next. I gotta say, the ETA's got some crazy things going on."

"You just want to go back to Spain," Chuck retorted, a bit weakly.

"Can you blame me? The food, the weather, the women . . ."

Bryce's grin widened at his joke. Chuck smiled back a little, trying to make an effort. Sarah was facing so many challenges, ones that she couldn't shirk. He needed to follow her example. No more wallowing, no more sulking. It was up to him to keep their lives going, so that when she returned they could focus on each other.

XXX

Once they were back in Los Angeles, Chuck made himself follow through on his new resolve. As he did so, he realized just how much he had let everything go over the last three months. He cleaned up the apartment, which had become messy from his "bachelor" lifestyle. Catching up on the missed bill payments, left unpaid while he was sulking, caused a hit to the finances. To get his workouts back on track, he called Devon and made arrangements for them to hit the gym together a few times a week. With Ellie, he sat down and made a wedding planning checklist.

"It's such a shame that Sarah can't be here for all this," Ellie had said. "But it's great that you're handling all this."

"I'm trying," he said, doing his best to smile at Ellie.

His sister looked sympathetic. "It's so mean of Sarah's boss, making her go on this long-term assignment when you've got a wedding to plan. But if you can't make it happen, then it can't happen."

Chuck smiled back at her. "Thanks, El."

Thanks to Bryce, they started working as part of one of the CIA's many task forces investigating the ETA. After years of focusing on Fulcrum, Chuck found that the work against ETA was very different. It was eye-opening, seeing other perspectives and other methods and how they could work against one terrorist group and not against another.

Within a week or so, Chuck felt like he was starting to recover. In fact, the only remaining challenge was something he'd never thought would be a problem: his friendship with Morgan.

It hadn't been long after Bryce had returned to his life that Chuck started noticing a change in Morgan. His best friend hadn't reacted well to finding out Chuck was friends with Bryce again. And while Chuck knew that Morgan had always been a bit insecure about Bryce, due to his good looks and money, he hadn't realized just how jealous Morgan could be.

Any attempts Chuck had made to include both of his friends in activities backfired. If Chuck said that Bryce would join them for video games, Morgan would cancel at the last minute, or not even agree to get together if Bryce would be there. After a while, Bryce just started refusing any offers to spend time together outside of work if Chuck mentioned Morgan.

It had gotten so bad that when they could have used Morgan's help, like going into that conference as Nerd Herders, Chuck hadn't been confident that his friend would help. Admittedly, Morgan still didn't know Chuck was a spy, but he could have come up with some kind of story to get Morgan on board-but as soon as Morgan found out that Bryce would be involved, Chuck knew that Morgan would change his mind.

And once Sarah left, Chuck had withdrawn from everyone. Ellie had mentioned that Morgan had even come over to her and Devon's apartment once, where they shared an "I miss Chuck" moment. Clearly, Chuck's friend was unhappy with their friendship, but for some reason Morgan wasn't willing to open up to Chuck. So it was time for Chuck to go to Morgan.

To start, he called up the Buy More and got Morgan's work schedule. It took bribing Lester with some special Call of Duty tricks that Chuck would normally be loathe to share, but it was worth it. Then, on Thursday night, when Morgan was done work at six, Chuck walked into the Buy More a few minutes before that hour.

Morgan was talking to a customer, so Chuck hung back and just watched him. In his gray suit and green sneakers, it was like seeing both sides of Morgan: the goofy kid he had grown up with, and the new adult that Chuck didn't know that well. But he wanted to change that.

When the customer walked away, Chuck walked up to Morgan. "Hey, Morgan."

"Oh," Morgan said, looking a bit surprised. "Hi, Chuck." He adjusted his suit jacket. "Need some electronics?"

"Actually, no. I wanted to know if you were up for some sizzling shrimp. My treat."

His best friend gave him a skeptical look. "Really?"

For some reason, seeing Morgan be so doubtful that Chuck wanted to spend time with him . . . well, clearly things were pretty bad between them. But Chuck wasn't going to let his friend drift away from him.

"Really," Chuck said. "Just you and me."

"Well . . . well, okay, then," Morgan said, a smile appearing on his face. "Let's go, then."

"You still riding the bike, or does being assistant manager come with a sweet ride?" Chuck asked, smiling back at Morgan.

"Sweet ride, of course-well, a Nerd Herder, but still, it's wheels." Morgan looked at Chuck. "You want me to drive?"

Ever since Chuck got his driver's license, he had been the designated driver. Mostly because he had been the one with a car, but also because Morgan didn't get his license until he was twenty-one. But Chuck wanted to show Morgan that even though things were changing, their friendship wasn't one of them.

"Sure, why not?" Chuck said.

The grin on Morgan's face was practically ear-to-ear. "Then this way, Master Charles."

Chuck laughed and followed Morgan to the small red-and-white Toyota, climbing into the passenger seat and folding his legs up. The drive to Bamboo Dragon was punctuated by idle chit-chat, mostly Chuck asking about Morgan's mom and learning more about how things were at the Buy More.

It wasn't until they were seated and had placed their orders that Chuck broached the real reason for tonight's dinner.

"Listen, Morgan," Chuck said, resting his arms on the table, "I wanted us to talk."

Morgan took a swig of grape soda, then set down the can. "Yeah . . . it's been a while."

"And that's my fault," Chuck said. "I haven't been a good friend."

"No . . . it's not just you," Morgan said, looking guilty. "It's mostly me. I've been the jerk."

He shook his head. "I was the one who kept trying to push Bryce on you."

"I should have tried, though," Morgan said, his voice sheepish. "But I . . ." He stopped and shrugged his shoulders, scratching his beard in a nervous gesture. "I thought you felt bad for me."

His forehead wrinkled as Chuck tried to figure out what Morgan meant. "Why would I feel bad for you?"

"'Cause here I am, an assistant manager of an electronics store, and I'm happy doing that. And then you have people like Sarah and Bryce, who are all ambitious and smart and everything, and . . . and you should spend all your time with them, not lame losers that you grew up with and who need you more than you need them."

Was that how Morgan really felt? Chuck was flabbergasted. "Wait, you thought that I could do better for friends than you, so you-what? Were trying to push me away?"

"When you say it like that, you make it sound like I planned it all out," Morgan said weakly. "And I didn't. I just-you wanted to hang out with Bryce! And I don't trust the guy. So I thought I'd just stay outta things until Bryce showed his true colors again and split town."

"Bryce has changed," Chuck said. "Just like you have."

Morgan looked doubtful. "Oh, yeah? How?"

Chuck thought for a moment, trying to remember Morgan's objections to Bryce over the years. "He's actually friends with Sarah. Not in a flirty, 'I'd try to hit that if her boyfriend wasn't around' way, but like, real friends. And these last few months, when I've been a mess, he's helped keep things together at work for me."

If anything, that last thing made Morgan look guilty. "Yeah . . . Ellie told me about how Sarah got sent out of town on some long-term gig and that you weren't taking it well." He paused and drank some more soda. "I'm sorry I wasn't around."

"It's okay, Morgan," Chuck said quietly. "I wasn't a very good friend myself. And for a lot longer, since I didn't understand why you didn't want to hang out with Bryce, too."

The bearded man looked at him. "If you were gonna replace me as your best friend, I guess I figured it'd be better if we just got it over with."

"Hey-there is no friend replacing going on here," Chuck said, his voice firm. "You hear me?"

"I didn't mind about Sarah," Morgan said, looking at Chuck with wide gray eyes. "She's great and all, and it's awesome that you guys are gonna get married. But she wants parts of you that I don't want-you know what I mean. And there's stuff that I can do that Sarah can't. But Bryce? He's like, a better-looking, smoother, more cool version of me. So why wouldn't you want to upgrade?"

"You've been my best friend since kindergarten, and nothing's going to change that," Chuck said, looking at Morgan. "Someday, we're going to be old men who sit around complaining about how movies used to be a lot better before they replaced the actors with computer-generated characters and pulling out the NES to teach our grandkids how to play Duck Hunt."

It was hard to tell with his beard, but Chuck was pretty sure that Morgan was blushing. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Chuck said, nodding. "Who else could make me see how wrong the Star Wars prequels are? Who's the other half of my sandworm? You think I want to forget all that?"

Morgan shook his head, a small, delighted smile appearing on his face. "No?"

"No," Chuck said. "After all, there's a lot of stuff coming up that I need you for, buddy. Like my wedding."

"I still can't believe you didn't use the proposal plan," Morgan said. "We spent hours working on that."

"When we were ten," Chuck said, grinning. "And I didn't want to put it off while waiting to get the wild stallions and the supercars."

"Okay, good point, but still . . ." Morgan said, returning Chuck's grin.

As the waiter set down their sizzling shrimp, Chuck picked up his chopsticks. "Okay, so, the wedding. You will, of course, be my best man-"

"I don't want to be your best man."

Chuck blinked. "Excuse me? You don't want to be my best man?"

"I do! I mean, I have this idea, and if you like it, I wouldn't be able to be your best man," Morgan said, his words tumbling over themselves.

He set down his chopsticks. "What idea?"

"I've always wanted to marry somebody. Be the guy who does the ceremony, I mean. And since I'm not ever gonna have the chance to marry Mario and Princess Peach-"

"You thought about marrying Mario and Princess Peach?" Chuck asked, but Morgan barrelled on.

"If I could be the one to marry you and Sarah, it'd be even better than that. So can I? Can I be the 'I now pronounce you husband and wife' guy at your wedding?"

Morgan's face was so full of hope and enthusiasm, Chuck hated having to shoot him down. But did he have to? Who would marry them wasn't something he had talked about with Sarah, and while the church the wedding would take place at had a minister, it was someone who didn't know him or Sarah. But Morgan knew Chuck and was friends with Sarah. Who better to marry them?

So Chuck nodded slowly, a grin forming on his face. "Yeah, Morgan. You can marry us."

"Oh, this is gonna be awesome!" Morgan said, bouncing in his chair. "I'm gonna go home tonight and find the best online minister training ever." He beamed at Chuck. "You won't be sorry."

Chuck grinned back. "I know. You seriously thought Mario and Princess Peach would get married?"

"He goes through all those levels to save her, Chuck," Morgan said, his voice showing just how stupid he thought Chuck was being. "Of course he wanted to marry her. Besides how pretty she is and the fact that she's a princess."

"You made Super Mario Brothers into an 8-bit soap opera," Chuck said, popping a shrimp into his mouth with a grin. "I had no idea."

"I'll tell you all about it," Morgan said, his mouth full. And as his best friend regaled him with the epic romance of Mario and Princess Peach, Chuck couldn't help feeling grateful that he had such good friends right now.

And wishing that Sarah could be so lucky.

End, Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah pulled the USB drive from the computer and gazed at it. She had tried to tell herself that sending a message to Chuck about his mother was a calculated risk. That it would help in the long run if Chuck was aware what was going on. But she knew it was just a justification. In truth, she just needed to talk to him. And since a real conversation wasn't possible, this was as close as she could get.

Bryce telling her what his code name for Fulcrum was-and his dead drop location in Toronto-had turned out to be one of those coincidences that could change everything. He had shared it during the part of his debrief she had conducted, filling in the gaps throughout his initial report after Chuck had brought him in. Her mind had filed away the information, holding on to it until she needed it.

With Volkoff's links inside Fulcrum, it wouldn't be too hard to get a courier to take the USB drive to Toronto and drop it off. Sarah had considered contacting Casey, or even the one agent she had maintained a quasi-friendship with since they had met in training. But when Zondra didn't respond to Sarah's emails, she decided to just make use of the Fulcrum network.

After she had thought about going to Toronto herself. But at that point, she would be too tempted to just go to LA, drop the drive off somewhere that she could spend a few minutes watching Chuck. And once she was that close, she could just step up to him and-

No. She couldn't do that. She couldn't even trust herself to take the drive to Toronto. Being on the same continent as Chuck would be too tempting.

Using the techniques that Chuck had taught her, Sarah wiped any evidence of her presence from the computer. Then she stood up and carried the USB drive to the nondescript office in the Volkoff Building that handled courier deliveries. She wrote out out the directions for the delivery and handed it over, giving a stern look to the man at the counter. "Put that on the next flight."

"Yes, Miss Radwanska," he said, nodding his head.

Being seen as Volkoff's newest favorite had a few perks, Sarah thought to herself. She turned on her heel and left, returning to her duties. First and foremost, she needed to check in and see what her next job would be. Then she had some weapons to test for Volkoff's designers, and she wanted to do some target shooting.

Her profile was rising quickly within Volkoff Industries, which was gratifying-if only because it made her that much closer to being done here. Even better was seeing how Frost was definitely becoming more receptive to her. Although Sarah wasn't sure if it was on her own merits-Frost had been impressed by her retrieval of Yuri's eyeball-or due to Volkoff's clear preference for Sarah, either way she would take it.

It might be one of the toughest parts of this assignment, crafting a connection with Frost. Not that it was an official, explicit direction from Graham. Of course it was wise to ingratiate herself not just with Volkoff, but with those people he valued within the organization. And there were few people that he valued more than Frost. Certainly the older woman was in a class by herself in terms of her longevity.

But it was more than that. As Frost grew used to her, Sarah was starting to see the smallest hints that maybe, just maybe, she really was Chuck's mother. Which, of course, opened up a whole lot of questions. If Frost was Mary Bartowski . . . how had she ended up here? Had she been sent on a mission here and just never left? Sarah had never heard of an undercover assignment lasting so long-it had been fifteen years! Was she still loyal to the United States, still attempting to complete her assignment? Or had she defected quickly, swayed by the potential of being Volkoff's second-in-command?

As she moved through the halls, nodding coolly to those individuals she knew, Sarah considered the evidence. As she had told Chuck in her message, the age and coloring were in favor for Frost being Mary Bartowski. After a few weeks of interactions with her, through idle conversation and questions and listening as much as possible, Sarah had gathered a few other pieces of information.

Frost always defaulted to English when possible, a language she claimed to have learned in California. When she was lost in thought, she sometimes rubbed her thumb against the ring finger on her left hand. After removing Yuri's eyeball, Sarah had caught a glimpse of Frost changing out of her blood-spattered clothes, a long enough glimpse to see stretch marks around Frost's hips-the kind of marks a woman got after pregnancy.

It wasn't a lot, Sarah admitted. It made her wish she had encouraged Chuck to do more hacking to find out about his mother. She knew he had done some idle researching at the beginning of the year, but the situations with Bryce and Jill had sucked up a lot of his free time. And he had kept a lot of the information he had discovered to himself-at least, that's what Sarah had to assume, since he hadn't really told her anything beyond what he had learned from his father's email and the resulting flash.

He also hadn't shared many stories about his mother before she had left the family. Sarah got the sense that it still hurt a bit too much for Chuck to open up about it. Look at how long it had taken her to find out about his Mother's Day holiday with Ellie-that was a clear sign of the pain he was still carrying around. The pain she wanted to heal.

If she was wrong about this, she couldn't imagine how Chuck would recover. But she wanted him to know that the possibility existed. There were bound to be other agents in the CIA with the code name of Frost. And it wasn't exactly like the woman was very maternal. But the longer Sarah spent with her, the more she started to think that this was Mary Bartowski.

And if she was, there was only one action for Sarah to take: extract Frost and get her out.

How could she do anything else? She couldn't leave Chuck's mother behind. Especially if she was still on assignment, forgotten by her government and cut off from any support? Frost had gone fifteen years without seeing her children; she had no idea what had happened to her husband. Sarah couldn't imagine living like that. Of course, it was likely Frost had no idea that her mission would stretch out for so long. But still, it was remarkable that the woman hadn't gone completely crazy.

That was just more reason to get Frost, or Mary Bartowski, out of here. But the real, overriding one was to bring their mother home to Chuck and Ellie. After everything they had done for Sarah, their love and support and friendship . . . there was no way she could repay them for that. Yet if Frost was Chuck's mom, Sarah could tell her how wonderful her children were. She had helped Chuck find his father; now she had found his mother, through the strangest of coincidences.

Soon, Chuck would know that his mother might be here at Volkoff Industries. It was up to Sarah to discover if Frost was Mary Bartowski. And if she was, there was so much Sarah could tell her. It would be a bit awkward, probably, but it would be worth it. At least, she hoped so.

Maybe someday, after Frost had recovered and reconnected with her children, there would be a chance for Mary and Sarah to form a relationship, too. To find out the kind of things she had secretly wondered about Chuck: what he was like as a little boy, the stories that he was too embarrassed to tell her or didn't know about. Of course Ellie had shared some of those things with Sarah, but . . . but Mary had been there from day one. And yes, Mary hadn't been there for a long time, but she still knew so much about Chuck that even he didn't know. Sarah wanted to give him answers. And she wanted some for herself, too.

Blowing out a breath, Sarah paused outside of Volkoff's office. She always took a moment before stepping into this room, to remind herself of who she really was and who she was pretending to be. Now that she was spending more time with Volkoff and Frost, she couldn't afford any slips.

When she stepped into Volkoff's office, Frost turned and walked away from Volkoff, but not before Sarah saw the annoyed expression on her face.

"Ahh, Sabina, my dear!" Volkoff walked up and kissed each of her cheeks. "I am so pleased with your progress."

"Thank you, Mr. Volkoff," she said, giving him a demure smile.

"Yet I sense you are ready for more. I admit, I am eager to see what you are capable of. If you can tap into the violence inside you. Are you eager for that, little Sabina?"

There was a restrained glee in Volkoff's voice. One that was different from normal. Like it was Christmas morning and he was about to open a room full of presents, each one better than the last. It sent a chill down her spine. But if he was ready for her to do more . . . she would be closer to the end.

Sarah gave a small nod to him. "I am, Mr. Volkoff."

"Excellent. Tell me, did you ever think of being a model?"

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked, blinking in confusion.

Volkoff handed her a folder. "I need you to go to Milan and pose as a model. You will steal some special bullets from another model, one who thinks she can be an arms dealer, too." His eyes narrowed. "She has been resistant to my recruitment offers. She's not a smart girl like you, Sabina."

Opening up the folder and flipping through it, Sarah saw photos of the woman in question and schematics on the bullets. "These are . . . some kind of smart bullet?"

Frost decided at this point to join the conversation. "They contain a microchip with a GPS tracker, so the bullet will hone in on a target." She looked at Volkoff, then back to Sarah. "Stepanova is no idiot. You'll need to check the bullets and make sure she hasn't kept the chips separate."

"Yes, Frost," Sarah said.

"Now, now, I doubt Stepanova has worried her pretty little head like that. But I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to double-check that, Sabina." Volkoff chuckled and rested his hand on Frost's shoulder. "Your paranoia is adorable, Frost. I am lucky to have you watching out for me."

It appeared to Sarah that Frost was on the verge of rolling her eyes, but instead, the older woman merely gave Volkoff a tight smile. "Of course, Alexei."

"Right! Sabina, spit-spot. Off you go. Get the bullets, kill Stepanova-"

"Kill her? She'd be more valuable if she worked for us. Her ability to move material past customs, Alexei-"

"Now, Frost, not in front of Sabina," Volkoff interrupted, an edge to his voice. He looked at Sarah. "You understand your assignment?"

"Yes, Mr. Volkoff," Sarah said, taking a step back. "I will return soon."

Volkoff waved her away as he resumed his argument with Frost. Sarah left the office as quickly as possible, her heels clicking against the dark floors.

Getting the bullets wouldn't be that difficult, she thought. Posing as a model would let her come in contact with Stepanova. No, the challenge was who she should listen to: Frost or Volkoff. Should she kill the model/arms dealer or let her live?

This was a moment that could have huge repercussions. And while she could always lie-say that Stepanova got the drop on her, that she got away and left the bullets behind-Sarah was still hesitant. Because that could definitely come back to haunt her. But if there was some kind of power struggle going on, between Volkoff and Frost, and if Sarah ended up backing the wrong side . . .

"Radwanska."

Frost appeared in front of her, standing between Sarah and the front doors of the building. It was all Sarah could do not to look around and boggle at how the shorter woman had gotten from Volkoff's office to here faster than Sarah had. Instead, Sarah smoothed down her jacket.

"Yes, Frost?"

"After you have acquired the bullets-making sure the targeting chips are included-you will take Stepanova to this location." Frost held a piece of paper out to her. "There will be some of Volkoff's men waiting for your arrival."

Glancing at the paper, which held directions to a building in the Austrian Alps, Sarah nodded. "You convinced Mr. Volkoff to change his mind?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sarah wished she had bitten her tongue. It was a bad idea to ever ask questions about what happened between Frost and Volkoff. Not simply because Frost was intensely private, but also because Sarah didn't really want to know.

Thankfully, Frost didn't respond. "Just get her there and I'll handle the rest. Now go."

Sarah nodded. "Yes, Frost." She turned, tucking Frost's note into the manila folder. Walking down the hall, she started running through her strategy for approaching Stepanova, getting the bullets, and capturing the model. It seemed like a simple assignment on the surface. But those were the ones that were most likely to blow up in your face.

XXX

Sarah pressed her lips together tightly and closed her eyes. The seas were rough and the Contessa was moving at a speed of at least fifteen knots. And while Sabina Radwanska did not get seasick, Sarah Walker did if she didn't take the CIA's enhanced version of Dramamine first.

And the ice cream that Volkoff had forced her to eat earlier, from the authentic ice cream parlor on board, wasn't helping matters.

Breathing slowly through her mouth, Sarah worked to calm her rolling stomach. She looked at herself in the small mirror, then washed her hands before stepping out of the head. Moving slowly down the corridor, she walked into a lavishly decorated stateroom and rejoined Frost, who was sipping a tonic water from her place in the back of the room.

It had been a few weeks since her mission in Milan to recover the smart bullets. Since that time, she had been sent out on a few other assignments, but otherwise she was stuck in Moscow, killing time every day. Although she had been tempted, she hadn't let herself check wedding websites or buy bridal magazines. It was too dangerous. But it meant she had spent a lot of time reading newspapers and magazines or on the shooting range.

Tonight, Volkoff was entertaining a large group of men on the ship: some his associates within Volkoff Industries, others that she didn't recognize. At first, she had been glad to get out of Moscow and have actual work to occupy her time. That was before they got on this boat and before she found out the schedule for the weekend. Right now, the drinks were flowing as everyone "got to know each other" before business began.

Being allowed on the Contessa in the first place was a sign of Sarah's advancement; being present at this meeting was another. She had the sense that the gathering was related to Fulcrum business. The strangers had the air of the Fulcrum operatives she had met before: serious, patriotic, dull. Not even the free-flowing liquor had gotten them to loosen up much. So while Volkoff and his men were singing Russian songs loudly, the possible Fulcrum agents stood around in clumps, talking quietly and drinking Scotch or whisky.

If Chuck was here, he could have flashed on the men and discovered who they were. That wasn't the only reason she wished he was here, of course, but tonight it was definitely higher up on the list than normal.

But she was certainly capable of finding things out for herself. Yet she didn't want to be obvious about her attempts to draw out the strangers. Looking at Frost, she spoke quietly. "I am going to the bar. Do you need another tonic water?"

Frost nodded. "Yes," she said, holding her glass out. "And get the bartender to splash some vodka in it. If this party gets any more dull, I'll go to sleep."

Sarah gave her a small smile and a nod, then started moving through the clumps of men towards the bar on the opposite side of the room. She moved slowly, doing her best to overhear as many conversations as possible while appearing to be simply taking her time and steadying her footsteps with the rough rocking of the yacht. It also let her sweep her eyes around the room frequently, dissuading any wandering hands from making contact with her.

Although honestly, any man who groped her would get what he deserved. And that held true for Sarah or Sabina.

Smiling slightly at the thought, Sarah stopped at the bar. "Vodka and tonic for Frost, and a tonic water for me."

"Yes, miss," the bartender said, quickly getting to work.

There was a quiet conversation between three men, just behind and to her left. Sarah kept her back to them, appearing to be idly watching the bartender, while she eavesdropped.

"This will backfire someday," one man said in a low voice, speaking in English.

"What choice did we have? We need his materials and his funds."

She guessed that they were talking about Volkoff, a hunch that was confirmed with the third man's words, more forceful and direct than the others. "Fulcrum would have died without Volkoff. Making him Director was a sop to his ego-and it opened up his wallet wide."

The other men chuckled quietly. "You can say that again," the second man said.

"And soon we will have his newest playtoy," the third man said. "One that will make our enemies run for cover that they will not find."

The bartender set down the drinks in front of Sarah at that moment, ending her chance to hear more. But there wasn't anything she could do, so she smiled and nodded to the bartender.

So the strangers in this room was Fulcrum. And Volkoff was the Director of Fulcrum. That was something new. It made sense, given the state of Fulcrum, that they would have been eager to get Volkoff's attention. It made Sarah wonder just how the terrorist group had changed with being run by Volkoff. There was also this 'playtoy' the men had referenced. She pondered all this as she walked the drinks over to Frost.

"Finally," she said, grabbing her drink and taking a good-sized swallow.

"You do not like parties, Frost?" Sarah asked, taking a tiny sip of the tonic water and trying not to think about her stomach.

"No," Frost said shortly.

On the inside, Sarah sighed. Frost wasn't in a chatty mood tonight.

"At least no one has tried to pinch my bottom," she said lightly.

"Wrong crowd," Frost said. "These guys are too dedicated to the cause to even notice you. Plus, they're a bunch of sexist pigs."

"Do they think women incapable of doing as they do?" Sarah asked, noticing the venom in Frost's voice.

"Women should be in the kitchen or the bedroom, in their eyes. Madonna or whore. Maiden, mother, crone. That's all they see. But these men are just the foot soldiers, really. The truly great minds in Fulcrum have been killed or captured, leaving behind the aimless and desperate. These men who were searching for a leader when Alexei came across them."

Sarah hid her face in her glass. She knew that Frost didn't have a high opinion of most people. But her unrestrained loathing for Fulcrum was interesting, to say the least. It would seem that Frost was upset about this state of affairs, about Volkoff becoming involved with Fulcrum. Perhaps she had counseled against taking over Fulcrum and Volkoff had disregarded her?

"What is the business happening tonight?" Sarah asked, turning back to Frost.

Frost eyed Sarah. "None of yours," she said shortly. "Stand back, watch Alexei, and keep your ears shut." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and moved around the room, engaging various people in short conversations.

Biting back a sigh, Sarah moved against the wall of the stateroom, watching the party. Every time Frost cut her down, Sarah wondered if she was fooling herself. But at this point, she had committed herself to finding out the truth about Frost. It was just going to take some more time.

As she watched the crowd, Sarah found her thoughts drifting to the wedding. She wondered what progress Chuck had made so far. He had Ellie to help him, and with how organized he could be, there would probably be nothing left for her to do except show up.

Well, and get a wedding dress.

She really wished she had found a dress in her initial shopping with Ellie. But nothing had felt right. Over the years, she had worn a wide range of formal gowns and designer dresses, but those were for missions. When it came to dressing herself, she wasn't quite sure what she wanted. Not for one of the most important days of her life.

Ellie had tried to reassure her. "With your figure, Sarah, anything would look great. And you could buy a sample size and look like a million dollars."

Chuck's sister hadn't understood, though. That made it even harder. Intellectually, Sarah knew how lucky she was to have a good figure, to have enough savings to get whatever wedding dress she wanted. But in this area, having no limits or restrictions meant that any dress could be the right one. But it would be impossible to try on every wedding dress, even in the small boutiques they had visited. Not even Ellie had enough patience for that, and Sarah certainly didn't, either.

The best-case scenario would be that she finished her assignment with Volkoff in enough time to find a dress, probably a sample, and get it altered in time for the wedding. That was certainly what Sarah was hoping for. The worst case was that Sarah missed the wedding entirely. She wouldn't let that happen. So as long as she had a few hours, she could find a dress.

As much as she wanted the perfect dress, as much as she wanted the wedding to be like something out a bridal magazine, deep down she knew the details didn't really matter. All she wanted was Chuck. As long as they got married, she would be content. When she had told Ellie that, the older woman had argued that she might regret not having a big fancy ceremony.

But Sarah didn't think so. At this point, her goals had narrowed to making it back to Burbank with enough time to get a dress before the wedding and having Chuck's mom come with her. Everything else was window dressing.

The ring of a knife against crystal silenced the conversations in the room. Alexei Volkoff stood in the middle of the stateroom, smiling widely. "My friends!" he cried out, holding his hands out in the air in a welcoming gesture. "I am so pleased you could join me here, in the presence of the two great loves of my life. First, this beautiful ship, my Contessa."

There was a murmur of agreement, even some muted applause. Volkoff beamed at those who clapped. "And of course, the woman who has been by my side at all times: my Frost!"

From her place near the bar, Frost raised her glass to the room, acknowledging the overly riotous reaction.

Sarah held back a smirk. Clearly, everyone here knew how to make Volkoff happy: treat Frost like a queen. It would appear that Frost could care less about their applause, though.

"Now that we have gotten to know each other, I am very excited to begin business with all of you," Volkoff continued, looking around the stateroom like a benevolent father speaking during a family dinner. "Dinner is ready to be served in the dining hall, and tomorrow, we will have the meeting you have all been waiting for. I think you are all eager to see my latest creation, but a little more anticipation will just sweeten the pot!"

The men in the room didn't seem happy to hear that, but with food and more liquor in their future, they all appeared resigned to waiting a bit longer.

The secrecy made Sarah wonder more about what was going to happen tomorrow. Volkoff was acting like a boy with a new toy, something so unique and special that he would be the envy of all. If he had been a small child, it would be endearing. In a fully-grown man who happened to be an arms dealer, it was not a little terrifying.

But like everyone else, Sarah would have to wait.

XXX

Between the rocking of the Contessa and the loud, drunken partying coming from the various staterooms holding Volkoff's men, Sarah hadn't slept well. She slipped out of her tiny room early in the morning, on the hunt for some coffee.

As she approached the kitchen, she heard voices coming from the stateroom where the party had been held last night. She paused outside the door, listening.

"We are in agreement, then." The man's voice was bland and unaccented, and he spoke perfect English. It must be someone from Fulcrum.

"Yes, we are," Frost said, her voice low. "Not that I need your agreement. It's time to stop living on the fringes and take center stage again. Fulcrum is small but nimble now, with plenty of supplies thanks to Mr. Volkoff." She chuckled. "Alexei and his deep pockets. I've had so many chances to take advantage of them over the years. I'm grateful I never took the opportunity, because he will never suspect me"

"Fulcrum is grateful for your direction, Frost. You have done more to revitalize us than Volkoff ever could."

"I'm glad you see it that way. You're the only one who does, it appears. And when Fulcrum has achieved its aims, it will be grateful to me. Not to Volkoff. And then the house will be cleaned and the idiots who couldn't accept a woman as the Director of Fulcrum . . . well."

Frost sounded almost gleeful at the thought of eliminating those individuals. It made Sarah swallow and turn around, placing her feet carefully as she walked down the corridor.

It was hard to believe, after their conversation last night, that Frost was actually the one running Fulcrum. Not because Frost wasn't capable of it, but because it seemed so unlikely that Fulcrum would accept a woman. Sarah had always known that the group was unusual, a throwback to the "good old days" when men did the punching and women did the typing. She hadn't realized just how far that attitude went, not until what she heard last night during the party and dinner. But it would seem that Frost had found someone in Fulcrum to help her run the show-someone powerful enough to assist with that, while Volkoff had no idea that he wasn't the one in charge.

There was no doubt about it, things had taken a turn for the complicated. But it made Sarah watch Volkoff and Frost even more closely during the meeting that everyone on board had been waiting for.

Inside a stateroom with a long conference table and several chairs, the men of Volkoff Industries and Fulcrum eyed each other warily. Sarah stood in the back corner, watching and waiting for the arrival of Volkoff and Frost. It happened with a literal bang when Volkoff threw open the doors of the stateroom and strode inside, Frost following him with a large hard-sided briefcase.

Volkoff went around the table, shaking hands and joking with the men that looked especially hungover. Frost, meanwhile, had gone to the head of the table and stood by the remaining chair, the one that was clearly meant for Volkoff. She still held the heavy-looking briefcase. Her face was expressionless and Sarah wondered just what was going on behind that mask.

Finally, Volkoff finished pressing the flesh and moved to his seat. He didn't sit down, just gazed at everyone in the room. Then he nodded to Sarah. "Sabina, the doors, please."

"Yes, Mr. Volkoff," she said quietly, drawing them shut and resuming her position.

"My friends," Volkoff said, his voice as rich as caramel sauce, "today is a momentous occasion. Over the years, I have created many weapons. Times change: yesterday's nuclear device is today's biological weapon." He paused and rested his hands on the conference table, leaning forward and fully playing up the drama. "What will be the weapon of tomorrow? None of us can know. But I believe that the newest arrow in our quiver-designed by Volkoff Industries, with a few small suggestions from Fulcrum-will be the best one yet."

At that, Frost stepped forward and easily lifted the case up onto the table. She stepped back, letting Volkoff have the honors of revealing what was inside the case.

With a flip of the latches, Volkoff slowly lifted the lid. Sarah felt a spark of irritation. Would he just get it over with?

"Gentlemen, I present to you . . . the Norseman."

He turned the case around, flourishing an unusual-looking weapon. It was a large and boxy gun, made from a clear plastic or resin. The magazine was clearly visible, loaded with bullets that-did they glow green or was it just a trick of the light? Sarah couldn't tell. And although it looked a lot like a gun, how did that make it as revolutionary as Volkoff seemed to think it was?

It would seem that the men at the table didn't understand, either. One of the Fulcrum operatives even said, "Is that it?"

"Is that It?" Volkoff said, repeating the question with childlike glee. "Oh, you underestimate the Norseman. This device is revolutionary. It will change the way you think about assassination."

Lifting up the Norseman device, he held it out so everyone could see it. "What is the most difficult part about killing someone? Isolating your target. Snipers are expensive little prima donnas, we all know this. Difficult to replace if they get captured. But with the Norseman, you don't have to worry about that."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Volkoff," one of his men said, his Russian accent tinged with subservience and confusion. "But how will this weapon do that?"

"Ivan, you, like everyone else, lack imagination." Volkoff set the Norseman back in its case, then pulled from the molded foam of the case a small vial. "Imagine that you had a weapon that would always hit its target and only your target-even if your enemy was in the middle of a crowd. Once you have the DNA of your victim, the Norseman locks on to that unique identifier and eliminates him. No muss, no fuss."

Eyes widened and deep breaths were taken by the men around the table. Sarah, meanwhile, felt her heart plummet. It sounded like the Norseman was some kind of adaptation of smart bullet technology . . . technology that she had helped Volkoff acquire. What else had she done to help create this?

"How?" asked one of the Fulcrum men. "How is the subject killed?"

"Now, that is my great achievement with the Norseman," Volkoff said, the small, delighted smile on his face at odds with his hard eyes. He held up a long bullet. "Inside the head of the bullet is a specially-engineered poison based on thorium. Want to simply incapacitate an enemy until they do what you want? Fire once. Put their life in jeopardy? Two bullets. And three . . . well, I'm sure you all know the words of J. Robert Oppenheimer. 'I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.'"

Looking around the room, Volkoff smiled slowly. A wide smile, one that took over his whole face. "Who in this room is ready to be the destroyer of worlds?"

If Sarah was any judge, the men were simultaneously uncomfortable and intrigued. This weapon sounded terrifying, and terror was something that arms dealers were well-acquainted with. But not when it was turned upon them. But more than the terror was the possibilities. The ability to take out any enemy with the minimum of ease, to eliminate a costly expense of a sniper.

"The Norseman makes assassination a task for your stupidest associate, your lowliest henchman. Someone you couldn't care less if they were captured or killed." Volkoff paused, then grinned slowly. "The Norseman is so simple to use, a child could pull the trigger."

A child? Sarah pressed her lips together, feeling disturbed by his words. It was a common metaphor, but for some reason, she had a bad feeling now.

"Sabina, we have some special guests outside. Would you bring them in?"

Snapping out of her thoughts, Sarah nodded. She turned and opened the doors and reflexively gripped the door handles at what she saw there.

Two children, neither of them appearing to be more than eight years old, looked up at her. The boy had curly dark hair and shy brown eyes. The girl was more forthright, her head whipping up to look at Sarah and ignoring the slap of her blonde pigtails against her cheek. Her green eyes locked on Sarah.

Volkoff appeared at Sarah's side. "Hello, children!" he said jovially in Russian, like an evil Santa Claus. "Come in. Sabina, shut the door." He rested his hands on the children's shoulders and walked them towards the front of the room.

Sarah quickly shut the doors and leaned back against them, her mind racing. Was Volkoff really going to do what she thought he was going to do? And if that was the plan, was there any way she could stop him?

Ivan, the man who spoke earlier, slowly rose to his feet. "Anya." He sounded horrified. Disbelieving. And scared out of his mind.

Another man, on the Fulcrum side of the table, gaped. "Jackson!" Rounding in his chair on Volkoff, he spoke, his voice full of anger. "You have kidnapped my son. I won't stand for this."

"But you will!" Volkoff said, delight in his voice. "Ivan, Michael, you have been chosen as examples. How glorious, you get to experience the Norseman for the first time! And to prove my point, it will be your child pulling the trigger."

It was exactly as she suspected: Volkoff was showing his power over these men in the cruelest way possible. And even worse, he was making two innocent children into the instrument of his cruelty.

"And if we refuse?" the man named Michael asked. Ivan seemed at a loss for words, his eyes glued on his daughter.

"Then I turn the Norseman on your children. Of course, there's no way of knowing what a dose intended for an adult will do to such a small child . . ."

Behind her back, Sarah squeezed her hands together. She couldn't watch this. She couldn't let this happen. It would wreck her cover, put her in extreme danger, but she couldn't let two children be subjected to this. It hit too close to home, too close to what she had experienced as a child. Sucked into con jobs, compromised from the start until she was old enough to see that she could never free herself from the stains on her soul-

Sarah took one small step forward. Then, suddenly, there was a hand on her arm.

Looking down, her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Frost holding her back. "Don't," the older woman whispered.

For some reason, Frost had let her mask drop. And Sarah could see the horror in her face. Could see how affected she was by what Volkoff was doing.

In that moment, Sarah knew that this was Mary Bartowski. And she knew that she had to tell Chuck's mom just who she was.

End, Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

Afterwards, Sarah could never be sure just what had happened when Volkoff demonstrated the Norseman. Her memories were not clear and linear; they were more disjointed. The flash of the men's eyes, full of fear; the Norseman device shaking in the hands of one of the children; the screams . . .

It was horrible.

She had always been cautious around Volkoff, wary of getting sucked in by the childlike glee he displayed. But now? Now, she was a little bit scared by him. Scared and worried.

What would happen if he found out she was a double agent? If she blew her cover, she had no illusions about what might happen to her. Volkoff wouldn't just kill her: he would torture her. He could spread out administering the three bullets of a full Norseman dose, letting her linger in pain for days, even weeks. And under such conditions, she might find herself doing things that she would never normally let herself do. She might reveal the secrets that she had vowed never to tell.

This assignment had already involved a massive amount of compartmentalization. She had locked away Sarah Walker as much as she could, trying to eliminate any conflict between her true self and her cover identity. If she was subjected to torture, she wasn't sure how she might react. Would the months of hiding who she really was let her hold out longer . . . or would it make her weak when she had to face a greater challenge?

All she knew now was that she had to ensure the Norseman was completely disabled. She had to find a way to sabotage the device so completely that it could not be rebuilt. Because once she was gone, and Volkoff found out who was responsible-if the smallest piece of the Norseman remained, he would move heaven and earth to rebuild the device just to use it on her.

Sarah shifted in her berth on the Contessa. This day had been awful. After the Norseman demonstration, Volkoff had spent the rest of the day closeted in meetings with his Volkoff Industries associates and Fulcrum. Volkoff had dismissed Sarah, telling her to enjoy herself for the day. Like there was any chance of that. Instead, she had spend the day trying to deal with what she had seen and determining what to do next.

Frost had vanished after the demonstration; Sarah hadn't seen her for the rest of the day. That was probably providential, because it gave her time to consider what she was going to do about that issue. Her doubts and worries about whether Frost was Mary Bartowski had been resolved. The fear in Frost's eyes had been undeniable. It was like she had finally gotten a look at a real person, not the cold woman Frost presented to the world. And seeing that, she was convinced.

It was just a gut instinct. If she had to explain why she now accepted Frost as Mary Bartowski, her proof would be thin and coincidental. But that was the whole point of a gut instinct-it went beyond evidence. Perhaps it all came down to the little boy, with his curly dark hair and big brown eyes. Sarah had looked at him and all she could think of was Chuck. Maybe it had been the same way for Frost-for Chuck's mom.

So as she made plans to sabotage the Norseman and take down Volkoff Industries, she had to find a way to address the issues with Frost. Finding a way to tell her who Sabina Radwanska really was, letting Mary know how much Chuck wanted to have her home, safe and sound. That was what she wanted to do. That was what she had to do.

There was no way to know when she would have the chance to talk to Mary. Sarah had the feeling that after dropping her mask before the Norseman demonstration, Frost would take every chance to avoid Sarah. It was understandable-and it would be helpful. She suspected that Volkoff would have a greater problem with losing Frost versus losing the Norseman.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sarah tried to relax. Tried to find a way to sleep. There was so much to plan and do and she would need her sleep.

As she rolled over in the berth, staring into the darkness, she wondered what Chuck would say about her actions today-rather, her lack of action. That was if she was ever able to tell him what happened. If she could face up to how she let two children hurt their fathers. Not fatally: Volkoff had carefully ensured that each child only squeezed the trigger once, delivering a non-fatal poisoned bullet to each man. And after a few moments, Volkoff had theatrically produced an antidote to the poison, injecting each man with it.

Perhaps the children would be able to forget what had happened. Sarah had been about the same age when she first started helping her father with cons, and she could barely remember the details from those early cons. Hopefully it would be the same for those two children, the little curly-haired boy and the blonde girl who so reminded Sarah of herself and Chuck.

But their fathers certainly would remember. And neither man would be willing to cross Alexei Volkoff in anything from now on. Not when Volkoff had made sure to inform everyone that he had acquired not just their DNA, but that of their loved ones and their top lieutenants. That meant Volkoff could hit them either professionally, personally or both.

That realization was eye-opening; Sarah had no idea that Volkoff had gained genetic material on his people. It made her wonder just how much DNA was needed for the Norseman. In truth, she was still trying to wrap her mind around just how the Norseman worked.

Perhaps that should be her first action: find out everything she could about the Norseman. It would be difficult, since Volkoff had done the bulk of the research himself. But there must have been various departments within Volkoff Industries which had been involved. Volkoff couldn't have done it all on his own. If she could make some connections with Volkoff's top people-people who would know her reputation and be aware how she was favored by Volkoff-she might get some answers.

It wasn't much, but it was a place to start. There was still so much crowding her brain, like Chuck and his mom and just how she would get out of Volkoff Industries when the time came. But with one decision made, it gave Sarah the space she needed to slowly drift off into sleep.

XXX

Now that Sarah knew about the weapon Volkoff had at his disposal, there was a new urgency inside her. Any day that didn't yield some small piece of information, some new relationship that could help her, felt like a day wasted. It was all she could do some days not to scream.

But she couldn't. She had to take the slow and steady approach. Normally, she was all for caution. It was a holdover from her father's training, to not rush a job by thinking about the payday-training that the CIA had cemented. But her knowledge of the Norseman made her want to go as fast as possible, to cut corners in order to find out what she needed.

Somehow, she managed to not let loose. She kept moving slowly, looking for ways to learn more without any suspicions being cast her way. It turned out to be simpler than she thought: all it took was telling Volkoff she was so impressed by the Norseman that she wanted to learn more about weapons development.

"What an excellent idea, Sabina," he said, smiling brightly at her. "After all, you're in a young woman's line of work. You need to find something with more security-that is, if you don't want to get married and have loads of fat babies instead!" He laughed, throwing his head back.

If it had been anyone else, she would have rolled her eyes once her back was turned. Maybe even point out that women could both work and have a family. But giving the world's most dangerous terrorist a lesson in feminism was not exactly why she had been sent here undercover. So Sarah had simply smiled and nodded. "Very true, Mr. Volkoff."

"Of course, you'd learn the most with me, but I'm afraid the business side of Volkoff Industries is taking all my time and attention right now." He scribbled something on a pad of paper and tore the top sheet off the pad, holding it out to her. "Here, go talk to these men in the research and development division."

When she reached for the piece of paper, he pulled it back, eyeing her critically. "You're very eager, Sabina. It's breathtaking how quickly you've risen in the ranks."

Volkoff doubting her could be catastrophic. She had to reassure him, show him that he had nothing to fear from her. Thinking quickly, she injected the tiniest of trembles into her voice.

"Mr. Volkoff, you gave me a chance. If I had not received your offer, with the straits I was in . . ." She let her voice trail off, then gave a small, elegant sniff. "I might have turned legitimate. Become a girl in a shop. Wasted my talents in order to keep a roof over my head. Your offer saved me from that. You saved me, Mr. Volkoff."

Sarah looked at him, making her eyes shimmer with tears. It might be a bit over-the-top, but she suspected he would respond to this approach. Even though it made her feel dirty to be throwing herself on his mercy like this. "I can never forget that, Mr. Volkoff."

"Oh, little Sabina," he said, rising from his chair. He walked around his desk and hugged her. "How terrible, to wither away as a shopgirl or a secretary! You have already proven that you are fit for bigger things." He pulled back and smiled at her. "Go and learn, my dear."

Taking the paper from him, she tucked it into her pocket and gave him a weak smile. "I will, Mr. Volkoff. I will make you proud."

He beamed at her, patting her shoulders. "I expect nothing less, Sabina."

As quickly as she could, Sarah extricated herself from his hold and from his office. She was grateful that Frost hadn't been there for her little performance-Sarah suspected the older woman would have been able to see through her act. And she wasn't quite ready yet to reveal her suspicions to Frost.

With Volkoff's blessing, Sarah began visiting the R&D division of Volkoff Industries. There were offices in several locations around Europe, although Volkoff had limited the names he had given her to offices in Russia. But Sarah knew that when she talked to the men in these places, she would find out more than Volkoff might have expected.

After a few weeks studying in Moscow, Sarah went to the base in Smolensk where newly-created weapons were tested by Volkoff Industries. According to what she had learned, the Norseman had been tested here, along with its antidote. In all the questions she had been asking about developing weapons, she had managed to slip in a few about the Norsemen. Most of the scientists and researchers had seemed so dazzled to have a woman pay attention to them, one that was highly-regarded by Volkoff, that they had freely answered her questions. Now in Smolensk, she was hoping to learn about not just how the Norseman worked exactly, but what the antidote was.

Given the high security surrounding the Smolensk base, they didn't receive many visitors. The scientists were so thrilled to have someone new to talk to, someone who was interested in their work, that they gave her a vast amount of data. Together with what she had learned in Moscow, she was able to start determining the pieces that made up the Norseman. Of course, with Volkoff's presentation she already had quite a bit of info, but now she was learning how to disable it, either temporarily or permanently.

From what she could tell, the critical pieces were the smart bullets and the thorium. The Norseman gun itself was fairly easy to create, and in a pinch someone could use a standard pistol that was loaded with the Norseman bullets. The bullets in question had the tracking chip and a small amount of thorium which acted like a poison inside the victim's body. With either the Norseman gun or the suitcase that the device came in, you could enter the victim's DNA and program the tracking chip inside the bullet.

It was all so ingenious, in an evil way, Sarah had to admit. As Volkoff had promised, it was easy to use the gun once it was calibrated for the victim, not to mention it would kill someone in a manner that would be difficult to link to an assassin. Because it would be the thorium poisoning that killed the person, not the gunshots.

Three days of talking and research had let her learn a lot about the actual device. The antidote was still shrouded in mystery. But she hoped with a few more days, she would be able to get some information. Then she could start focusing on how to approach Frost and tell her that Sarah knew her true identity. All it would take was a few more days of laying low, of not attracting attention to herself.

A goal she wondered if she could achieve when she encountered her high school nemesis.

Walking through the base with one of Volkoff's lieutenants, they had passed a room half-full of people. New recruits, the lieutenant told her. Sarah had nodded and would have passed by without much more thought, only to stop when one of the recruits, standing in profile and inspecting her nails, looked familiar.

When the recruit turned towards the doors that Sarah and the lieutenant were walking past, that was when Sarah recognized her. It was Heather Chandler. The head cheerleader and popular girl who made James Buchanan High School a miserable place for Jenny Burton. Jenny Burton, the girl who grew up to be Sarah Walker.

Of course, Heather Chandler had no idea of her existence back then, other than as a nerd with bad hair, braces, and a violin case. And Sarah had come a long way from Jenny Burton. But seeing the pouty-lipped, emaciated girl she remembered as a muscled woman with dead eyes, a woman who had become an associate of Alexei Volkoff . . . it fit, in a crazy kind of way.

But that didn't mean she wanted to spend much time catching up with Chandler. Even if she wasn't undercover, Sarah didn't want to have anything to do with Heather Chandler. Not if she was working for Volkoff. Unfortunately, the lieutenant then asked her to speak to the new recruits.

"Give them a thrill," he said in a friendly manner, his Polish accent showing that he considered Sabina a fellow countryman. "Show them how far they can climb in Volkoff Industries."

Sarah tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn't listen. He practically pushed her in front of the recruits, who were all gazing at her with various measures of disdain or regard. Taking a deep breath, Sarah focused on making her accent flawless. This was a test of her cover identity, of her ability to be Sabina Radwanska.

It wasn't much of a speech. A few platitudes about working hard and loyalty, a sop given to how Volkoff was the best man to work for in this business, and so on. The recruits applauded politely and Sarah made her escape, hurrying off to talk to one of the scientists involved in the Norseman testing.

Over the next three days, Sarah did her best to avoid all the recruits. She didn't want to give Heather Chandler any more looks at her than she already had. Fortunately, it wasn't too difficult a task to achieve. Not until the morning of her last day, when she was eating breakfast before leaving to return to Moscow.

A tray containing a large mug of coffee, eggs and two slices of dry toast hit the table in front of Sarah, clearly slapped down in order to startle her. But having seen Heather approach out of the corner of her eye, Sarah was ready. She lifted her eyes and arched an eyebrow. "Yes?" she said, striving to sound bored.

"I know you," Heather said, sitting down and leaning in towards Sarah, the loose sleeves of her jacket nearly ending up in her eggs. "I don't know how, but I do."

"You are mistaken," Sarah said, turning up her Polish accent just a little bit.

"No, I know you," the other woman insisted. "Have you ever been to the states?"

She sipped the last of her coffee. "No. I hope to never visit America. I would only go if Mr. Volkoff requires it of me."

Heather shook her head, her multi-colored hair in its ponytail sweeping back and forth across her shoulders. "You're trying to play me and I don't like that. What if I told somebody I thought you weren't who you say you are?"

"Who do you think would be believed: you, a brand-new recruit, or me? Trusted by Frost and Volkoff, respected and trusted . . ." Sarah let her voice trail off, holding Heather's gaze.

Letting out a snort, Heather leaned forward. "C'mon, Sabina," she said, putting extra emphasis on the name, "just between us girls, you really think you're that secure here? All cozy and settled?"

This was annoying. Thinking that she knew who Sarah was and automatically thinking they were friends? If this was how Heather was going to act, it didn't seem likely that she would last long. And Sabina wouldn't put up with this kind of crap.

Crossing her legs, Sarah eyed Heather. "What is your name?" She casually rested her hand on her boot heel, feeling for the knife in her boot.

"Heather Chandler," she said, picking up a piece of toast and taking a bite.

It was the perfect opportunity. Without any hesitation, Sarah pulled out her knife and pinned Heather's sleeve to the table. Before Heather had even finished reacting to the knife, Sarah lashed out and punched her right in the nose.

"Owww!" Heather glared at her. "You bitch, I'm gonna-"

"Heather, I am bored now," Sarah said, standing up and taking her knife back. "And I have more important things to do now. Like check my hair for split ends."

She walked away, only pausing to slide the knife back into her boot. She didn't look back at Heather, ignoring the streams of curses she was throwing at "Sabina's" back. Because she didn't really care about Heather's threats. She couldn't hurt Sarah.

Seeing her here was a surprise, because it was possible that could have been Sarah. If Graham hadn't recruited her, she could have easily ended up in this kind of situation: breaking the law, being a terrorist, without a moral compass. Without Chuck.

If she hadn't met Chuck, if she hadn't taken the leap to fall for him . . . this would be her life. Long-term undercover assignments, acting against her ethics to serve a greater good, all of it. The reason she had taken Graham's offer and joined the CIA was because she knew being a con artist was about hurting people. Sure, most of them deserved it in one way or another, but there were definitely people that got hurt when she and her father conned them. She hadn't wanted that. She didn't want to hurt people. She wanted to help them.

All her father had taught her was how to be a con artist. The only thing Graham wanted was an enforcer. They had let her down, time and again, and if she hadn't met Chuck, she would have found herself in this kind of situation, without any other options but bad ones.

Sarah wondered just who had let down Heather Chandler to bring her to Volkoff Industries.

XXX

Volkoff had recalled her to Moscow, telling her that he had a special assignment for her. And using his own words, he had booked her on the overnight train from Smolensk to Moscow as a special treat.

Sarah didn't mind. It gave her time to think and to plan. To organize her mental notes on the Norseman, getting everything in order. It was too dangerous to write anything down, so she had found that reviewing everything before she went to sleep, fixing the details in her mind, would have to suffice.

There didn't seem to be anything else for her to learn about the Norseman. At least, nothing more that she could learn without attracting the wrong kind of attention. She would have to hope she was bringing back enough intel for the CIA to carry on and finish the job.

As she sat in the train compartment, she found herself looking at her watch. The watch that contained a Morse code transmitter, to be used if she was in an emergency or needed to contact the Agency.

Was it time to use it? To warn Graham that she would need extraction soon? She might only get one message with it, so sending word too soon would leave her without communication if anything went wrong. But it was likely that when the time came to leave, she would have to leave quickly. Having the CIA at the ready would provide her much-needed backup.

But she still hadn't even started her last task: saving Mary Bartowski. Until she had at least begun talking to Frost and explaining what she had missed out on, Sarah didn't think using the transmitter would be wise.

Perhaps when she got back to Moscow, she would be able to spend some time with Frost-enough time to find the right words to explain the truth to her. There was so much to tell Mary . . . like how Chuck might know that his mother was inside Volkoff Industries.

She sighed and gazed out the window as the Russian countryside flew past in the twilight. It had been several weeks since she had sent Chuck her video message. Of course, he might not have received it-the courier network might have failed her. But if he had gotten the video she had made, he would know his mother was here.

How had he reacted? Was he angry? Sad? Worried? All of the above and more? Was he trying to get involved in the mission against Volkoff, taking his own steps to save his mother? Sarah wouldn't put it past Chuck to try that. But maybe since she was also involved in this, Chuck had held back, worried about her safety as well as his mother's.

Bringing her legs in against her chest, Sarah wrapped her arms around her knees. Chuck was smart and talented. But she didn't think even he could go up against Volkoff and get both of them-fiancé and mother-out safely. If both of them were going to get out, it was up to Sarah to get Mary Bartowski out. To save her.

And to do that, she had to talk to Frost. Had to reveal who she really was.

Sarah nibbled on her lower lip. That was a scary thought. Letting down the one barrier she had left, removing her only protection . . . but it had to be done. Without that show of honesty and trust, Frost would have no reason to believe her about Chuck and Ellie, about Chuck working for the CIA, about anything.

It was getting late, she realized as she looked at her watch. Sleep was definitely in order. As she slowly drifted off, she contented herself with thinking about how soon, she might be home with Chuck. There was still a month before the wedding date-that would be plenty of time for her to get a dress.

Arriving at Volkoff Industries the next morning, Sarah straightened her clothes. She still felt a bit groggy from sleeping on the train, but that couldn't be helped much. Hopefully, she wouldn't be going right to work.

Inside Volkoff's office, Volkoff and Frost were talking. Actually, it seemed more like arguing from the volume of their voices. But when she stepped inside, the fight seemed forgotten.

"Ahhh, Sabina!" Volkoff said, smiling at her. "How was your study? Did you learn much?"

She gave him a small smile before letting him kiss each of her cheeks. "I did, Mr. Volkoff. Thank you for letting me have the time to spend with the research and development division."

"And do you think you want to do more in that line?" Frost's voice was clipped and professional, a stark contrast to the warmth in Volkoff's.

"Maybe someday," Sarah said, standing up straight with her hands clasped in front of her. It had been so long since she had any conversation with Frost. And knowing what she knew now . . . it made the conversation feel weighted with additional meaning.

Volkoff wrapped an arm around Frost's shoulders. "Now I can send my two favorite ladies on a very important mission. One that will let me use the Norseman whenever I like, instead of rationing it."

"Yes, Mr. Volkoff," Sarah said, hoping her face hadn't blanched at his words.

"We're going to Switzerland to acquire ten vials of thorium, kept in a Swiss bank," Frost said. "The owner of the vault has met an unfortunate accident, and you and I will play his grieving widow and daughter."

Sarah nodded, fully realizing the irony of this assignment. Playing the daughter of the woman who would soon be her mother-in-law . . . it was like something out of a TV show.

"We will go in, get the thorium, then transport it to a secure Volkoff facility. Simple and efficient."

"With that much thorium, the Norseman can be powered for months-maybe even years, depending on how the market shakes out," Volkoff said. "I won't be able to honor my commitments without it, so Sabina, my beloved Frost, you will get me my thorium."

There was a hardness in Volkoff's voice, a tone that wasn't normally there. Sarah wondered at it. Could perhaps things be on the outs between Volkoff and Frost? That could be an opportunity to get Frost out if Volkoff was not paying her his usual amount of attention.

"Nothing will stop us, Mr. Volkoff," Sarah promised. "Frost and I, we are a good team."

"Like ice cream and hot fudge!" he said, sounding more like himself. He beamed at them. "The jet is waiting for you. Spit-spot, off you go!"

It was all she could not to boggle at Volkoff. There were times when she was still shocked that this was one of the most successful, most ruthless arms dealers in the world, tracked by nearly a dozen law enforcement agencies.

Almost before she knew it, Sarah was on a plane to Zurich with Frost. While the flight would have been a good time to prepare for her upcoming conversation and reconnect with Frost, Sarah had to admit defeat and get some extra sleep. Given that Frost completely rebuffed her attempts at small talk, Sarah gave in and went into one of the cabins to sleep. It wasn't until an hour before they landed that she woke up, finally feeling ready for the mission.

In a black dress, heels, and a large hat, Frost looked the part of the lost, lonely widow. Sarah chose large sunglasses instead of a hat, twisting the hair of the auburn wig she was wearing into a low bun. It was uncomfortable wearing the wig on top of another wig, but it was only for a short while, and it was necessary: both the mother and daughter they were impersonating were redheads.

The bank, one of Switzerland's oldest and most respected, welcomed Frau and Fraulein Weiß. The bank manager himself met with them, talking gently and quietly with Frost as Sarah faked crying into a handkerchief.

"We are so sorry for your loss," the manager said in German, his voice oily and unctuous. "There is no need for you to remove your late husband's holdings from our facility, though." He gave them both a patronizing smile. "After all, the Swiss banking industry has its reputation for a reason."

"Of course it does," Frost said, attempting to sound like a woman barely holding herself together. "And my late husband spoke so highly of your services. But there is one item, in his safety deposit box, that I need to remove."

The bank manager nodded. "Completely understandable. If you would let me see your paperwork, I can prepare the transfer that will allow you into the safe deposit area."

Playing her part, Sarah turned over the forged documents, followed by Frost handing the bank manager a passport in the widow's name. The manager pushed away from his desk and left them alone in his office.

A heavy silence fell between them. Sarah glanced at Frost, who sat calmly, her hands folded in her lap. Ever since the Norseman demonstration, Frost had not allowed herself to spend much time with Sarah. And when they were together, she kept the focus squarely on the mission.

It was like she knew Sarah suspected something about her and therefore was trying to eliminate any possibility of confrontation. That didn't really fit with Sarah's mental picture of Frost . . . could that be an aspect of Mary Bartowski? It certainly reminded her of Chuck, of how he had admitted that during their rough patch, he had stuck his head in the sand, living in a delusion that everything was all right rather than facing their problems.

Frost let out a quiet sigh, the fingers of her right hand rubbing against her left hand. Sarah had seen her doing that before. It was one of the things that made her think Frost had been married before. Maybe it was time for Sarah to call her on that.

"You have done that before," she said quietly.

"Done what?" Frost said, keeping her eyes facing forward, away from Sarah's.

"Rub your fingers against your left hand. Like you are . . . searching. For something that used to be there. Something that gave you comfort."

"You sound like a pop psychologist," Frost said, disdain in her voice. "It's just a habit."

"In our work, habits are dangerous. They are too revealing." Sarah shifted in her chair, turning to face Frost's profile. "I see you do that, and I think you must have been married once."

"You don't see anything," Frost hissed. She shot Sarah a glare, one full of anger. "Keep your attention on the mission."

Sarah ignored her words and kept speaking. "Married . . . married for a long time. Long enough for you to get used to your ring, used to rubbing it when you are lost in thought." She could see Frost's hands clench. "Did Volkoff kill him?"

Frost stood up and turned to face Sarah. "It's none of your business. I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Radwanska, but after this mission you're done with me. You'll be put back on courier duty, going between Warsaw and Tbilisi."

Looking up at Frost, Sarah knew she was breaking through the shell around the older woman. Could tell by Frost's anger, by her threat. It was time for the final stroke.

"No . . . no, your husband is not dead. And you did not divorce, I think." Sarah paused and dropped the Polish accent, speaking like herself. Like the woman who was engaged to Mary Bartowski's son. "I know this because I've met Stephen Bartowski and he would like to know where his wife is."

If it was possible, Frost's body became even more tense. Her face went blank, her expression carefully composed. But her eyes burned with emotion. Anger and annoyance and frustration, but deep down . . . hope.

Slowly rising, Sarah looked down at Mary Bartowski. "I know Ellie Bartowski and she wished her mother could have seen her get married."

She advanced on Mary, who took an unconscious step back. To her surprise, Sarah felt her heart beat faster, felt her throat close up for a moment. From her point of view, Mary was doing everything she could to not crack. It almost felt cruel, what Sarah was doing. But Sarah had underestimated the strength of Frost's walls, the tenacity of Mary Bartowski to cling to her cover.

But for Chuck's sake, she would break down those walls.

Her voice was thick when she said, "I know Chuck Bartowski because I'm engaged to him. And he wants his mother to come home."

The words hung in the air. Mary's face was still expressionless and she hadn't said anything in response to Sarah's words. It was awkward and tense. But Sarah couldn't help the feeling of relief she had. Someone else knew who she was. Someone else knew who she loved. And best of all, she had gotten to say Chuck's name out loud for the first time since she had seen him two months ago.

Mary ducked her head, the brim of her hat hiding her face. Sarah swallowed. "Please, Mrs. Bartowski-"

"Shhh!" Mary said. "I hear something."

Sarah frowned and cocked her head. It did sound like there was more activity in the hallway outside this office. And . . . "That bank manager has been gone for a very long time."

"Yes, he has-long enough to get a strike team outside this office." Mary tossed off her hat, mussing the immaculate bun that her red wig was styled in. She reached down and pulled a Beretta from inside her boot.

Swiss banks had strike teams? Sarah supposed she shouldn't be surprised. "Now I know why we had to use the VIP entrance."

"No metal detectors," Mary said. "What weapons do you have?"

"Just me," Sarah said. At Mary's look, she shrugged, feeling sheepish and embarrassed. "I didn't think I'd need any for this part of the job. And I assumed there would be metal detectors."

She rolled her eyes. "Your fists won't do much against semi-automatics." Mary frowned, then nodded. "You go out into the hallway and give me a signal about how many are out there. I'll come out and start shooting and you start punching."

"A frontal assault? Are you crazy?" Sarah said, blinking at her.

"Got a better suggestion, Radwanska? Or whatever your actual name is?" Mary shook her head. "I should have known you weren't some freelancer. You were too good. Too professional."

"Thanks," Sarah said dryly, scanning the room. She pointed to the corner, where a three feet by three feet vent was located. "Cold air return. The duct should be large enough to support us."

"And end up where? We don't have maps for this place!"

"It'll get us away from that strike team!" Sarah said, running over to the metal cover that hid the ductwork. Looking around, she saw a letter opener on the bank manager's desk, one that looked sturdy and solid. Without any further delay, she snatched it up and used the metal blade as a lever to pop off the cover. She looked at Mary. "This is our best option and I'm not going back and telling Chuck I let his mother get blown away by a bunch of Swiss bankers!"

Mary eyed Sarah for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Cover me." She pressed her gun into Sarah's hand and pulled a small flashlight from her other boot (was this some kind of mother quality, always having exactly what she needed, Sarah wondered distractedly), then climbed into the duct. She crawled slowly away from the opening, apparently trying to prevent any knocks or thuds in the metal duct.

"Right," Sarah said, waiting for Mary to advance far enough down the duct for Sarah to slip in after her. Pulling the vent cover over the opening and hoping its askewness wouldn't negate the time advantage, Sarah turned and began crawling after Mary, holding the Beretta carefully.

Both of them moved slowly, trying to prevent themselves from being discovered. They had been in the ducts nearly five minutes when Mary paused and turned her head towards Sarah, her flashlight throwing enough light around the duct to light up their faces. "You didn't tell me before."

"Tell you what?" Sarah said, taking advantage of the break to reach up and yank off her auburn wig.

"What's your name?"

Pausing, Sarah looked down at the wig in her hands. It was one thing to tell Mary that Sarah knew who she was, but it was something else to reveal her true self. But this was Chuck's mother.

Sarah looked up and gave Mary a small smile. "I'm Sarah Walker."

End, Chapter 5


	6. Chapter 6

Luck was on their side. The duct lead them into some kind of employee break room-an empty one. Mary kicked out the vent cover, they dumped their wigs and some of their clothes, and then they walked out through one of the employee exits.

Once they were on the streets of Zurich, Sarah tried to regain her composure. Telling Frost, or Mary that is, that Sarah knew who she was, not to mention dropping her Radwanska cover to tell Mary her real name . . . it all combined with the adrenaline to make her feel a bit limp. But she knew she had to keep it together.

"What will we do without the thorium?" Sarah asked quietly.

"Volkoff will find another way," Mary said. "Probably buy off the family. Or buy the bank."

Sarah nodded, sweeping her eyes around them. "So what will we tell him?"

The older woman shrugged. "I'll think of something. Once we're at the safe house, I'll call him." Mary looked at Sarah, her eyes slightly narrowed. "And we can talk, too."

There was something in her voice that made Sarah feel cautious. Wonder if she had really screwed up. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, not having a gun or any other weapons. Although she was fairly sure she could take Frost in a fight, the other woman had the advantage when it came to firepower. And how did Sarah know that Frost, or Mary Bartowski, or whoever this woman might be, was leading her to a safe house? It could all be a trap.

Swallowing, Sarah kept walking, trying not to show her thoughts on her face or in her body. She wasn't very familiar with Zurich-if she just ran now, she stood a good chance of getting lost. Plus, it would cut off any chance for her to gather more intel inside Volkoff Industries.

She wanted to go home. To return to Chuck safely. But how could she do that if she wasn't certain she had gotten all she could out of Volkoff? And now with the potential of turning Frost and bringing Mary Bartowski home . . . there would be too much left undone if she left now. The job wasn't over. Not yet.

"This way," Frost said, breaking Sarah out of her thoughts. They were in an area on the fringe of Zurich's downtown center, a part of town filled with a mix of old and new construction. The older woman ducked down an alleyway between two large, imposing stone buildings, stopping at a metal door hidden in the shadows.

Her knock rang dully through the alley. The door was opened by a large, hulking man, who took one look at Frost and then nodded. He stepped back to allow Frost and Sarah to step inside, into a small foyer that stretched about ten feet in front of them.

"Are there enough supplies here for a few days?" Frost asked quietly, her hands in the pockets of her coat.

The man's voice was deep and rich, his German sounding almost musical. "We are fully stocked, Frost. If you require anything in addition-"

"No, that's fine. We don't want to be interrupted," Frost said, waving off his offer of assistance. She looked at Sarah and jerked her head to the left. "Follow me."

"Yes, Frost," Sarah said, using her Polish accent for the time being. Wanting to keep up appearances in case all was not lost.

Frost walked out of the foyer and through a set of doors, Sarah following her a few steps behind. The room they entered was not lavish, but certainly comfortable: two large couches, freshly-painted walls, and a window that let in light but was criss-crossed with thick metal bars.

Escaping through the window would be impossible, Sarah realized as she took in the room. And getting past the guard at the door would be tricky, but it would be her only option, it appeared. If she had to get out of here.

"Sit down," Frost said, removing her coat before taking a seat at one end of a couch. She leaned back and closed her eyes, making herself unusually vulnerable. Hesitating for a moment, Sarah chose to sit on the same couch rather than across from her on the other sofa. Until she knew for sure, showing trust in Frost, or Mary, would probably help her.

Sarah folded her hands in her lap and sat up straight, waiting for some kind of sign from Frost. When the silence stretched out, Sarah felt her nerves increasing slightly.

"You were going to call Volkoff," she said quietly.

"Yes, I was," Frost said, her eyes fluttering open. Then, with a heavy sigh, she sat up and shifted, facing Sarah. "But first, I think you need to explain some things."

"And so do you," Sarah said, lifting her chin and returning her gaze. This wasn't a one-way conversation; she had a lot she wanted to know about this woman.

Frost shrugged. "If you insist."

"I do insist-I want to know why you would leave Chuck and Ellie and their dad," Sarah said, the words flowing out of her. "Why the CIA has no idea that you're here, why you've stayed at Volkoff's for fifteen years . . . why." Sarah paused and took a deep breath. "I want to know why."

"So you think I'm this person?" The former Mary Bartowski crossed her arms over her chest. "What makes you think that?"

"A lot of things. But mostly? Your reaction when I said their names in the bank." Sarah wasn't about to lay all her suspicions on the table. Not before she got some kind of confirmation.

Letting out another sigh, Frost nodded. "All right . . . I'm Mary Bartowski."

That was it? Sarah's skepticism must have shown on her face, because Frost let out a rusty laugh. "I was Mary Gunter before I married Stephen on April 27, 1976. Ellie came along on February 12, 1978, then Chuck on September 18, 1981."

"I knew all that before I even met Chuck," Sarah said, then cursed herself for her slip. She had all but told Mary that meeting Chuck hadn't happened in a normal, boy-meets-girl kind of way. Giving herself a mental shake, Sarah told herself to just listen. To not press.

Mary raised an eyebrow, then wrinkled her forehead as if making a mental note to come back to that point later. "I was a CIA agent when I met Stephen, too. I was his handler." She looked down at her hands. "His contact with the Agency while he worked on his special project."

Lifting her head, Mary looked at Sarah. "It was different back then. If you think the CIA is an old boys' club now, just imagine it in the '70s. The lines were very clear. So when I began to fall for Stephen . . . it was difficult. We were allowed to marry, but there was a lot of resentment directed towards me. And then, when Stephen started having setbacks and money got tight, I had to go back to work for the Agency."

As Sarah watched, Mary rose to her feet and paced a few steps. "We kept it from the kids. And Stephen didn't know all the details-he didn't know how bad it was for me. Just like how I didn't know much about what he was working on." Mary paused and turned to face Sarah. "I couldn't turn down any assignments, couldn't voice any objections. Not if I wanted to keep the only job I'd ever had-the only job I knew how to do."

The words struck a chord with Sarah. Even during her time with the Agency, she'd seen the signs of institutional sexism at work. How female agents were put through extra grooming to increase their attractiveness, how a woman who was forceful and stubborn quickly received the label of "bitch" or "ice queen." But being a spy was tough, dangerous work and only the strong survived-male or female.

Worse than that was Mary's assertion that being a spy was all she knew. Because Sarah had been in that place before, if you replaced "CIA agent" with "con artist". For a moment, in spite of the still-simmering anger she had at Graham, she gave thanks that he had seen something in her, something that would let her do something valuable, something with the potential for good.

"Is that how you ended up at Volkoff Industries?" Sarah asked quietly.

"Yes, partly," Mary said, returning to the couch. "Having an undercover agent at Volkoff Industries was a dream opportunity for the CIA. And I made sense as the agent sent in. It was only supposed to be for six months, at most. They thought that would be enough time for me to collect valuable intel and then get out."

Sarah frowned, wondering what had derailed the plans.

"And then Volkoff fell in love with me."

Ahh. That would do it. As the focus of Volkoff's affections, that made Frost incredibly valuable inside the organization-both Volkoff's and the CIA. She would have access to information that other agents could only dream of.

"Still . . . shouldn't they have tried to get you out eventually?"

"There were plans at various points within the first three years," Mary said, sounding tired. "But they all got sabotaged before I could get out. Volkoff knew I had a family; I'm not sure how he found out, but he did. When . . ."

Her voice cracked. Sarah moved a bit closer to her, trying to offer some comfort. Mary cleared her throat. "When I found a picture of Stephen with a rifle scope painted over his face-a picture I knew had been taken outside of Chuck's school, I told the CIA to stop. That I would find my own way out." She smiled tightly. "I lied, of course. With my family at risk . . . I could never leave. Not unless Volkoff was dead."

Gently, Sarah rested her hand on Mary's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Rubbing a hand over her face, Mary nodded. "So I've been here ever since. Working for Volkoff, trying to stay sane . . . trying to stay a part of my family."

"How did you manage it?" Sarah asked curiously.

"I have my resources," Mary said. "Ways of getting photographs, reports . . . I had just found out about you, shortly before you arrived."

"Me?" Sarah asked, straightening up a little.

"I received some pictures from Ellie's wedding." Mary sighed. "It looked beautiful. And there you were, with Chuck."

Sarah closed her eyes and for a moment, she was back at Ellie's wedding. Dancing with Chuck, watching how happy he was to have his father there, the smiles on Ellie and Devon's faces . . . "It was a wonderful day," Sarah said, hearing the softness in her voice.

Mary rested a hand over Sarah's. "You must miss Chuck very much."

Was there a way to put into words just how much she missed Chuck? How could she describe just how it felt like working without half her body, being on this assignment without him? It wasn't just what he brought as a spy: his intelligence, his ability to think outside-the-box, even the Intersect. It was just as much about him. His courage. His loyalty. Knowing when to crack a joke and when to wrap an arm around her.

It was all those things and more that she was missing, and it didn't seem possible that words could capture that. So Sarah just nodded.

"What's stopping you from asking for extraction?" Mary asked, her voice going firm.

"The Norseman, of course," Sarah said. "If I left, I knew Volkoff would use it against me. So I had to destroy it so completely that it couldn't be rebuilt."

"That's a lot for one agent to accomplish."

She shrugged. "It's what I had to do before I could go home."

"So that's why you asked Volkoff to let you spend time with the R&D department," Mary said.

"Yes," Sarah said with a nod.

Mary stood up and reached into her coat, withdrawing a cell phone. "I suppose with my help, you'd be able to leave."

"Not without you," Sarah replied quickly. "All Chuck and Ellie would want is for you to be home safe." She paused. "And we could get a message to your husband. Tell him you're back."

For a moment, Mary Bartowski looked like she was weighing two diametrically opposed possibilities. Sarah couldn't guess what went through her mind, but after a few moments, Mary gave the tiniest of nods.

"You'll leave with me?" Sarah asked, standing up. "And you'll help take down Volkoff for good?"

She could see a flutter in Mary's throat. As if the words were caught there, fighting to break free.

"Yes," Mary said. "I think it's time I went home."

If Mary Bartowski had been another woman-if Sarah was another woman-she would have hugged her future mother-in-law. Sarah settled for giving her a big, toothy smile, the kind she hadn't shown for five months.

"Then let's get to work."

XXX

It amazed Sarah slightly how quickly everything started coming together. With the help of Mary, problems just seemed to vanish and new facts appeared as quickly as flowers after the rain.

To begin with, Mary explained why they had needed Yuri the Gobbler's eyeball.

"The fake eye contained an access key for Volkoff's Hydra database. Yuri was completely loyal to Alexei, it's true, but he was also prone to getting captured or arrested. Volkoff was tired of bailing him out."

"What's Hydra?" Sarah asked.

"It contains all of Volkoff's files. Contacts, invoices, schematics . . . everything."

Sarah felt her jaw drop open. "He kept it all in one database?"

"Overconfidence and a lack of technical know-how," Mary explained. "When it comes to designing weapons, Volkoff is a genius. But he still doesn't understand how Wi-fi works."

The gears were turning in her head. If the CIA had access to Hydra, not only would they have ironclad proof to use in trials against Volkoff, they would be able to come up with a way to counter the Norseman.

"Is there any way we could take Hydra with us?" Sarah asked, leaning forward.

"Who do you think suggested Volkoff remove Yuri's eyeball?" Mary asked with a grin. "It meant only two people could access the database: Alexei and myself."

The delight in her voice at her part in eliminating Yuri gave Sarah pause. It was a little troubling, to say the least. For a moment, she remembered that conversation she had overheard on the Contessa, the one between Frost and the Fulcrum operative, about how Frost would take over Volkoff Industries and Fulcrum . . .

She stopped that train of thought before it could go too far. After fifteen years in Volkoff Industries, Mary Bartowski would probably have difficulty shaking her cover identity. And that conversation was just part of her cover identity; with the role she played in Volkoff's life, Frost would naturally attempt to gain power for herself.

But Mary had been very above-board with Sarah since Zurich. Now that they were back in Moscow, they were both excited to be making real progress. When Sarah had sent a Morse code message, saying that extraction would be needed within two weeks, she had thought it was an overly ambitious timetable. Now she was wondering if they didn't need to move the extraction up a few days.

The first order of business, once they were back, was recovering the one thing they knew could knock out the Norseman.

"An electromagnetic pulse will disable the tracking chips inside the bullets," Mary explained quietly as they approached a remote armory deep inside the Volkoff Building. "Of course, you could just try again with new bullets against a target, but the EMP buys you time."

"So, what, Volkoff started stockpiling them?"

"No, they're too common. After all, the technological weapons department makes them for Volkoff clients," Mary said, navigating her way through the corridors. "But Volkoff came up with a handheld EMP. We'll need it in case Volkoff tries anything."

Sarah nodded and helped Mary find the EMP. "I still think we need to do something on our way out," she said quietly. "Take all the tracking chips, destroy the thorium. We need to cripple the Norseman so Volkoff can't use it. As soon as we're out, the government can arrest him and destroy the research."

"Putting your trust in the government? I thought you were more jaded than that. Especially after what Director Graham did to you," Mary said, shooting a glance at Sarah.

During the trip from Zurich to Moscow, Sarah had explained what had brought her to Volkoff Industries. In retrospect, she had probably shared too much with Mary. Given her too much insight into her thoughts and hopes and dreams.

Or maybe it was just her years of training rearing their head. Between her father and the CIA, caution was the name of the game. But if she hadn't listened to her gut, hadn't instinctively believed that Frost was really Mary Bartowski, she wouldn't be here now. Gathering reams of intel on a known terrorist, positioning herself to knock out his network and destroy his newest, deadliest weapon. She would be out of Volkoff Industries with two weeks to spare before her wedding to Chuck-and she would be leaving with Chuck's mother in tow.

It had been a risky move, but given the size of the reward, Sarah thought her decision to let Mary in had been the right one. Mary was proving to be a good partner in all of this. She was canny, practical, focused. She wanted to leave even more than Sarah did, and it gave them both fuel to get this done.

After so many months on her own, it was comforting to have backup. To not feel so alone. Although Mary was a pale replacement for Chuck, she was better than nothing. And Mary was so eager to learn more about Chuck. To find out what kind of man he was, to hear about their adventures together, about their plans for the future.

For the most part, Sarah kept those talks focused on the personal. She didn't know how much Mary knew about the Intersect project, and given everything she had to catch up on, Sarah didn't want to overwhelm her with the news that her son had all of the United States's secrets in his brain. And it was more fun to talk about the wedding, to discuss what she and Chuck had planned, to bounce ideas off Mary when it came to her wedding dress.

Her whole future was nearly within her grasp. Sarah couldn't wait to get home. To hug Chuck and to kiss him. To go shopping with Ellie, to have Morgan over for dinner. To get married and have a party with all their friends and family there, to show how much she and Chuck loved each other.

After so many years of never having anything to hold on to, Sarah felt like she finally had it. And it was good to have roots, because they didn't take away from her life, didn't hold her down. They gave her everything she needed to be herself and reach for the stars.

And now she was getting very sappy. Something that wouldn't work with tonight's mission: transferring Hydra to a CIA server. So Sarah made herself focus on work until she met Frost.

It would be a tricky task, since the Hydra database usually could only be accessed in the presence of Volkoff or Mary; no one else could be in the room. Mary claimed to have developed a work-around, though.

But the work-around wasn't what Sarah was expecting.

"How did you get his voiceprint?" she asked, looking at the small digital recorder in Mary's hand.

"I spliced together surveillance audio to get the passphrase. I've done it before," Mary said with a shrug.

"And it's worked?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Every time up until now," Mary said, sounding like she was more than done with this conversation.

Sarah took a deep breath. All of her thoughts about how close they were had made the important point that they weren't home yet. She felt doubts creeping in, an extra layer of worry about the simplest things.

"Sorry," she said, holding her hand out for the recorder.

"You act like you think this is my first time," Mary said with a lopsided smile, handing over the recorder to Sarah. "Just hold it up to the pad when I tell you."

With a nod, Sarah followed Mary to Volkoff's office. The large room, usually so intimidating, was much less so without Volkoff. Mary ignored everything in the room, zeroing in on a large flat-screen television. She pressed a combination of buttons that made the TV slide up into the wall, revealing a keypad and a speaker grille.

Mary gestured to Sarah, who held the recorder up to the grille. In his rich voice with the tinge of a British accent under his Russian one came Volkoff's passphrase. "Alexei Volkoff. Death is the solution to all problems."

"Frost. One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it." Mary spoke her phrase and then pressed several keys quickly. She turned around and faced the large desk in the center of the room before looking at Sarah. "There we go."

Without delay, Sarah crossed over to the desk, taking in the data appearing on the computer screens. Her eyes widened at the sheer scope of it all. "It really is everything."

"I told you it was," Mary said. She sat down in Volkoff's desk chair and began typing on the keyboard. "I am setting up the transfer . . . you have the CIA server address?"

"Yeah," Sarah said, taking the keyboard and quickly entering the IP address. "How long do you think this will take?"

"Several hours, I think." Mary looked at Sarah. "You're sure you don't want to slip a note to Chuck in here?"

"With that much data, it's unlikely he'd get it before we got out," Sarah said, but not without a bit of longing. Her brief encounter with Chuck was over two months ago now. She still had no idea if he had even received her video message about Mary. What if he hadn't gotten it, and she showed up without any warning, accompanied by his mother? He'd be so shocked.

"That's true. Only two more days," Mary said, leaning back in the chair. "It's hard to believe. In two days, I'll be gone from here. Back to my old life."

Sarah perched on the edge of the desk. "You must feel . . . I can't imagine what you feel. I'm nervous and I was only gone five months."

Chuck's mother nodded, the flickering computer screens throwing a soft blue light over her face. "If I think about it, I feel completely overwhelmed. I don't know my children anymore. They have their own lives now, their own families. How will I fit in?"

"I don't think they've ever forgotten you," Sarah said. "You'll fit."

Mary turned to look at Sarah, then reached out and rested her hand on her knee. "Thank you, Sarah. Finding you here, having your help . . . you've given me the courage to think we can really pull this off."

Feeling thankful that the soft light wouldn't reveal the flushing of her cheeks, Sarah shook her head. "He threatened your family. Of course you didn't want to risk them."

"Seeing Volkoff behind bars is all I want now," Mary said, her voice determined. "I want him to rot for what he's taken from me."

"From you and from so many people," Sarah said.

Blowing out a soft breath, Mary nodded before looking at Sarah. "You should go back to your place. Get some sleep. You'll have to do the lion's share of the physical combat when we leave, so you need your rest."

The motherly affection in Mary's voice made Sarah feel shy. Normally, she would have argued. But instead, she just nodded and stood up. "Okay. I . . . I'll see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow," Mary said, smiling gently at Sarah.

Before she could blush anymore, Sarah turned and started walking towards the door.

"Sarah?"

She paused at the door, knowing that Mary couldn't see her. "Yes, Mary?"

Sitting behind the computer, at that large desk, Mary looked slightly fragile, but also incredibly strong. Like a fine piece of china that had stood the test of time. "I'm glad Chuck has you. He's lucky."

"That's the thing, Mary-I'm the lucky one," Sarah replied, feeling her heart swell with love. "Good night," she said softly, slipping out of the office without waiting for Mary's reply.

XXX

Today was the big day. The day she would leave Russia, the day she could smile again and stop using the brick-red lipstick that she would never ever use again. The day she could start growing out the dye job and become Chuck's Sarah again.

There was an extra spring in her step as Sarah walked through the halls of the Volkoff Building. Mary had sent her a message early yesterday morning, saying that the Hydra database had successfully transferred to the CIA server. There had been no signs during the day that Volkoff or any of his people had any idea of the transfer. Everything seemed set for the extraction, but she made sure to arrive at her normal time of seven, even though it was a Sunday morning and Volkoff Industries was usually deserted.

She had just walked in the entrance doors when a voice called out her name.

"Miss Radwanska!"

Turning around, Sarah saw a portly man rushing up to her. He was sweating and flushed. "Miss Radwanska," he wheezed slightly, "Frost wants to see you. In her office."

"Of course," Sarah said, using her Polish accent for one of the last times.

Frost had an office on the floor below Volkoff's-in fact, it was directly underneath his. It took only a few moments for the private elevator to whisk Sarah to the correct floor. When she stepped out, there was a particular kind of quiet. It was the silence of a building with no one else present. Frowning a little, Sarah walked down the hall, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors.

Sarah knocked on the office door and heard a muffled "Come in." She opened the door, taking in the low lighting in the office. Mary was sitting at her desk, something that made Sarah smile a little. Frost's desk wasn't that dissimilar from Volkoff's and made her think of how she had left Mary the night before last.

"Hi, Mary," Sarah said in her own voice. "Everything seems all set for today. I hope you got plenty of rest like-"

When Alexei Volkoff stepped out of the shadows, Sarah drew up short, cutting off her words with an audible click from her teeth clenching shut.

He had heard her real voice. Heard her speak in friendly tones to Mary-use Mary's real name. And Mary hadn't stopped Sarah, hadn't given her some kind of warning.

Oh, God.

Looking back and forth between Volkoff and Mary, Sarah tried to smile. "What-what is going on?" she asked in Russian.

"Now, now, no need to use a foreign language to hide your lying tongue," Volkoff said airily in English, walking towards her with his hands in his trouser pockets.

Mary hit a button, turning on the lights in the office. Letting Sarah get a good look at her.

It didn't take a trained spy to realize that she had changed. Her attitude, her whole bearing, was different. There was an air of command about her and something in her eyes that said this woman wasn't to be annoyed or crossed.

This was Frost. This was the cold, hard woman she had heard rumors about ever since she had arrived, the woman she had seen when she first got here. But no, this was more-she was harder, icier. She wasn't Mary Bartowski anymore.

And Sarah didn't understand what was going on. But this felt bad. Really, really bad.

"Ms. Walker, I'm afraid the plans have changed," Frost said in English as well, her voice cold and flat.

More than anything else, it was the use of her real last name that made Sarah realize just how bad things were. Because . . . because something had happened to make Mary-no, Frost, she was Frost now-betray Sarah.

She had to stall for time. Find out what was going on so she could figure out a way to escape all this. If she could get out of this building and just lay low for twenty-four hours, the CIA's extraction team would be here and she would safe and she could go home to Chuck.

Squaring her shoulders, Sarah looked at Volkoff and Frost. "So you decided to sell me out, Frost?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from showing her bewilderment.

Frost let out a humorless laugh. "The minute you arrived here, I knew who you were. Sarah Walker, shining star of the CIA, partner of Charles Bartowski . . . member of the Human Intersect team."

Sarah swallowed, feeling her stomach clench. They knew about the Intersect . . . what else did they know, beside what she had been stupid enough to tell Mary?

"A small detail you didn't tell Mary about," Volkoff said, sounding petulant. "She already knew, of course, but it was surprising that in all the time you spent spilling your guts to Mary, you didn't reveal that."

"I guess I had an instinct something was off," Sarah bluffed.

"Hardly," Frost said, standing up and walking to Volkoff to take his hand. "I could barely get you to think about work." Frost looked at Volkoff. "All she wanted to talk about was her wedding. It was sickening."

"Well, a young woman, engaged to the love of her life . . . it's natural." Volkoff said, sounding indulgent. "Although I think, once we are done, Ms. Walker will have learned a valuable lesson from all this."

That didn't sound good. But then, nothing about this sounded good. "So you knew it was me as soon as I arrived," Sarah said, trying to draw their attention, trying to find some way out. "Did you decide to set me up like this from the start?"

"Oh, I don't know if we did that. Did we, my love?" Volkoff said, looking at Frost.

She gave a small shrug. "The possibility crossed my mind. So I waited and watched, building the groundwork for when you made a mistake." A small smirk of a smile crossed her face. "And you made many."

"But you are Mary Bartowski?" Sarah asked, letting her eyes flick around the room, looking for an avenue for escape.

"If you must know . . . once I was Mary Bartowski, yes."

"Then how can you do this?" Sarah asked, feeling her anger grow as she kept speaking. "You turned your back on your family, left them alone and confused and you don't even care about going back, about making amends and-"

Volkoff backhanded her, sending her stumbling away a few steps.

"Alexei, that's my job," Frost said, sounding disgruntled.

As Sarah worked her jaw, making sure none of her teeth were loose, she saw Volkoff assume a sheepish expression. "Forgive me, my love. You know how I am about your former family."

"They mean nothing to me, Alexei."

Sarah held her face in her hand as she looked at Frost, who wore a placid expression. "Marrying Stephen Bartowski was about keeping him in line," Frost explained slowly, as if speaking to a stupid child. "Keeping him producing what the CIA wanted. And for a few years . . . we were happy, I suppose. But then he got distracted with his little stupid projects, and the children always needed something, so going back to work was ideal. And after a few years, I was assigned to infiltrate Volkoff Industries."

"Oh, happy day," Volkoff said, his hand stroking her back.

It was enough to make her throw up, the sickly-sweet adoration between two evil people. But it gave her something to think about beyond the crushing betrayal and anger and sadness swirling inside her.

Never had she failed so utterly and completely. She had totally misjudged Mary Bartowski, thinking that she was an ally, a friend. Someone who could replace the mother that Sarah hadn't seen since she was eight. The mother who had let her father take their only child into a life of lies and deception.

Randomly, she thought of Chuck and Ellie and their Mother's Day holiday. About remembering the day they had learned to look out for each other. If only she had done the same-remembered the day that she had performed her first con, or when Graham had recruited her, or the day she had completed her CIA training. All of those times when she was reminded of how she could take care of herself. Of how much she had achieved on her own.

Or even better, she could have remembered that life was about finding the right people to take care of you. Like Chuck, or Casey, or Ellie. Bryce or Morgan, even Graham and Beckman. She had people to depend on. She had made the wrong choice this time . . . but she couldn't stop leaning on people. That would be the real lesson she took from this experience.

Raising her head, Sarah looked at Volkoff and Frost. "I assume you didn't really transfer Hydra to the CIA?"

"Of course not," Frost said with a snort. "Our IT department is currently going through that CIA server, thanks to you."

"We have much to be grateful to you for, Ms. Walker," Volkoff said with a small smile. "Access to the CIA's database . . . knowledge of the current identity of the Human Intersect, which Fulcrum is most eager to learn . . . and the Norseman! If it hadn't been for your recovery of the smart bullets from the most recalcitrant Sofia Stepanova, I don't think I could have finished my work."

Moving away from Frost, he walked over to her. She wanted to step back and keep the distance between them, but she made herself face him, trying to keep any fear out of her eyes.

He took her bruised face in his hands and kissed both of her cheeks. "I think your service merits a reward."

She yanked her head back and raked her nails over his face. "That's all the reward I want."

His laughter was rich and round and completely insane. "Oh, it is a shame we can't keep you!" Volkoff turned back towards Frost. "Are you sure we couldn't break her and have her continue working here?"

"No, Alexei," Frost said indulgently. "That's not the plan. Get the suitcase."

"Yes, my love!" he said, walking away from Sarah.

The suitcase? What-what was he getting?

Frost looked at Sarah. "You won't understand this. You're too young. I did love Stephen, in my own way. But being a spy always comes first."

Sarah licked her lips. "You're wrong," she said softly. "Chuck taught me that there are things more important than being a spy. More things than I could tell you in a lifetime."

"It is a shame to destroy you like this," Frost said, a note of sympathy in her voice. "But it must be done."

At that moment, Volkoff stepped into view, carrying a large hard-sided case that Sarah recognized. It was the case that held the Norseman.

So this was it. They would use the Norseman on her. They weren't even going to torture her. And why would they need to? She had been stupid enough to give them exactly what they needed.

She looked down at her hands, which were clenched together. She wished she had her engagement ring right now. Something to touch, to remind herself of how much Chuck loved her. But probably that would have just sent her over the edge-more than she already felt she was. Her shoulders inched up toward her ears as she fought tears.

This was the kind of situation in which she should get angry. And she was. But more than that . . . she was heartbroken. She was breaking her promise to Chuck to come back so he could put her engagement ring back on-she would never get to marry him, never find out if she could be a mother, never have all the small, simple things that Chuck had introduced her to and she wanted so much.

Her fingers fumbled with her watch, finding the button with the Morse code transmitter. She took a deep breath and quickly managed to type out a message. It was short and simple: "I love you, Chuck." With how her fingers were shaking, she hoped she hadn't messed it up.

Getting the message off made a calm fall over her. No. She wouldn't let them do this to her with her head bowed, on the verge of tears. That wasn't what Sarah Walker did. She looked death in the eye.

"Any last requests, Ms. Walker?" Volkoff smirked at her as he opened the case.

The short, simple message to Chuck would have to be enough. She shook her head.

"No begging. How sad," Volkoff said, looking at Frost. In the midst of pulling out a cell phone from her pocket, Frost shrugged her shoulders.

"She thinks we're going to use the Norseman on her."

Frost's absent-minded words were like a bombshell. They weren't going to use it on her? Then who-

"Ivan?" Frost said into the phone. "Do you have the target in your sights?

"Yes, Frost," came Ivan's voice over the speakerphone. "Bartowski is with another man, visiting the Santa Monica Pier."

Her knees turned to water. Sarah didn't know how she remained standing as it sunk in.

They were going to use the Norseman on Chuck.

"No," she whispered.

"Take the shot, Ivan," Frost directed.

The sound of two gunshots came through the speakerphone, loud and clear. So loud that Sarah could practically see the scene in her mind.

Chuck, walking along the pier with Bryce or Morgan. Having fun. Talking, smiling that big happy smile of his. Taking a few hours to relax and unwind after a mission or from a day of working on the wedding.

Doing all that with no idea that he was about to be poisoned because of her.

"Target hit," Ivan said, sounding calm and collected. "Heading to the airport now."

"Good work, Ivan," Volkoff said, closing the fake suitcase.

Frost snapped the phone shut and looked at Sarah.

Sarah swallowed, her fists clenching. Now there was anger. Rage, in fact. Eclipsing any other time she had been angry.

"You're free to go, Sarah. We have no use for you now." Frost's voice was full of disdain. Like anything that Sarah could do would come up short.

Backing away from them slowly, Sarah moved towards the doors. "You think I can't save him?" she asked, pausing in front of the doors.

Again, Frost shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me."

"Although if you do somehow save Charles, we'll just shoot you in the heads. With regular bullets," Volkoff said, sitting on Frost's desk and swinging his leg.

"It should matter," Sarah spit out. "Because not only am I going to save Chuck-I'm going to make you both pay."

She knew they didn't believe her. Didn't expect her to carry through on her promise. But that was the thing.

Sarah Walker kept her promises.

End, Chapter 6


	7. Chapter 7

As he followed Ellie into the courtyard outside the Woodcombs’ apartment, Chuck couldn’t help feeling that things were good. Of course Sarah was still gone, but not for much longer: in this morning’s briefing, Graham had announced that Sarah had requested extraction--and it was scheduled to happen in just a few days. With just over two weeks left for the wedding, that was perfect timing. But then, it was Sarah. He hadn’t expected anything less. 

Ellie had called him this morning, asking if he was free for dinner tonight. It wasn’t that unusual of a request, and he hadn’t seen Ellie for a few weeks due to their respective work schedules. So he had been happy to agree to dinner. 

They had spent the evening eating and talking, enjoying their time together. Watching Ellie as she laughed, Chuck couldn’t help thinking how happy she looked. There was a glow about her: all the signs of a woman who had a good life. Ellie had her career, her marriage, her home, her friends and family. She had it all. 

His big sister had always been an inspiration to him. Someone that he looked up to. It made him happy to see her happy. And it made him think that soon, he’d have it all, just like she did. 

“Sure you don’t want to come in for some ice cream?” Ellie said, pausing by the front door of her apartment. 

“Nah,” Chuck said, patting his stomach. “I’m still really full from all that sushi. Plus, with the wedding coming up, I want to look good in my tux.”

“You look good all the time now,” Ellie said with a grin, dropping down onto a bench in the courtyard. “Not like my skinny, gangly brother.” 

Chuck smiled and sat next to her. “Don’t tell Awesome, but he is right--exercise is pretty awesome.” 

Like always, Ellie rolled her eyes. “Don’t call him that.” 

“Sorry, sis, but Devon is and will always be Captain Awesome to me,” he said, grinning at her as he stretched his legs out.

“Great, the baby will call him Daddy Awesome then, and when I try to tell him or her that’s not true, they’ll say, ‘But Uncle Chuck says that’,” Ellie said, a big smile on her face. 

“Like the baby will listen to me more than Dev--Wait.” Chuck sat up, looking at Ellie with wide eyes. “Baby?”

Her smile became a bit softer, a bit more content. “I’m pregnant.” 

“Oh my God!” Chuck said, wrapping his arms around Ellie tightly. “Oh, this is great news--oh, no, I’m crushing the baby!” He pulled back, searching her face. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Ellie said with a laugh. “I’m only three months along--the baby is just three inches big at this point.” 

“But you’re okay?” Chuck asked, feeling incredibly nervous. His sister was having a baby!

She took his hand, holding it tightly. “I’m really, really good. Devon and I got the news a few weeks ago, but . . . but I wanted to tell you in person, so I waited until I could see you. And I wish Sarah could have been here so I could tell you both.” 

He squeezed her hand. “I wish she could have been here, too.”

“Especially since she’ll have a bridesmaid who’s a lot fatter than she was when she left,” Ellie said, bumping Chuck’s shoulder with her own. 

“You’re not fat--you’re having a baby,” Chuck said, hearing the awe in his voice. “Wow, Ellie.” 

“I know!” Ellie sounded equal parts excited and frazzled. “You think I can pull this off?” 

Chuck looked at Ellie. “What? Of course you can--you’ve got Devon, and all your friends at the hospital, and you’ve got me and Sarah . . .” 

Ellie still looked uncertain, so Chuck wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Hey. You are going to be a great mom. Because not only are you the best big sister in the world, but you also did a pretty good job bringing me up.” 

“Really?” she said softly, her hand lightly resting over her stomach. 

“Really,” he said, lightly kissing the top of her head. “You’re gonna be an amazing mother.” 

She sniffled a little, leaning against him. “It’s so silly . . . the other day, I was feeling bad because here I was, with plenty of people offering to help and Honey’s been doing nothing but sending advice and baby monitors and even Devon’s freaking out, too. And I had this moment when I wished Mom was here.” Ellie huffed out a laugh. “Crazy, right?” 

“Not crazy at all,” Chuck said, rubbing her arm. 

It was so tempting to tell Ellie what was going on. To let her know that their mom would be there in a few days. But telling her that would open up multiple cans of worms, including the biggest one of all: what he actually did. 

More and more over the last few weeks, he had been thinking it was time to tell Morgan and Ellie and Devon about his job with the CIA. Being alone these months, having to pretend he had been talking to Sarah, had been tough. If they had known that Sarah was undercover and out of reach, it would have changed things. Made them understand how he had been acting. Plus, the guilt he felt about shutting out the people who loved him most--it had been increasing ever since Sarah left. 

In the back of his mind, he had even started planning the best time and method for telling everyone. With Morgan, it could be casual. Although his best friend would probably be upset to find out that Bryce was a spy, too--giving Chuck and Bryce another thing in common that Morgan didn’t share--Chuck hoped that Morgan would also be distracted by finding out that Chuck was a spy. Ellie and Devon, on the other hand, would mean a special dinner, with all of Ellie’s favorite foods and plenty of time to talk things over and explain everything to her. 

Now that Ellie was pregnant, thought, it would be even more important to keep her calm, to make sure her stress level stayed low. Because an unhappy, stressed-out woman couldn’t be good for the baby inside her. So that meant his plans would have to wait and be implemented later, at some point down the road instead of not long after he got married to Sarah.

He just had to hope that his family would understand why he kept this major secret from them for so long. But he knew now that he had to tell them someday. Sarah was right--this wasn’t something he could keep from them forever. Because he didn’t want his family to not know what he did, something so important. He didn’t want them to feel like they were shut out of his life. 

Ellie took a deep breath and pulled away from him, brushing her fingers under her eyes. “Okay, enough tears. Because this is good news. The baby’s due in February--I might have a Valentine’s Day baby!”

“You always did envy the kids born on major holidays,” Chuck said. “Except, of course--”

“Christmas babies,” they said in unison. 

His sister laughed. “Yeah, I always felt bad for the kids born on Christmas. But February is good. You should see how Devon is acting--he’s so excited, but he’s also incredibly nervous. He’s already started reading baby books.” She smirked a little. “It’s like he suddenly became you.” 

“Hey, just because I like reading about things . . .” Chuck said, letting his voice trail off as his cell phone started ringing. Pulling it out of his pocket, he saw that it was Bryce. “Sorry, sis, it’s work. Gimme a second, okay?” 

“Come inside when you’re done--I have to get these shoes off,” Ellie said, standing up and fishing out her keys. 

Chuck nodded and stepped away as he answered the phone. “Hey, Bryce.”

“Hey, hope I’m not interrupting Bartowski bonding time,” Bryce said, sounding amused. 

“No, we were just talking. Guess what--Ellie’s pregnant! I’m gonna be an uncle,” Chuck said, feeling an ear-to-ear smile bloom on his face. 

“Wow . . . congratulations,” Bryce said, sounding a bit shocked. 

“Bryce, buddy, the crush on Ellie? You’ve got let it go. Because believe it or not, Devon is really more awesome than you are,” Chuck teased. 

“I don’t have a crush on Ellie,” Bryce said in a sulky voice. “I was just surprised.”

“Uh-huh,” Chuck said, rocking back and forth on his heels and grinning.

“Shut up,” Bryce retorted. 

“Mature. Why were you calling again?” He lowered his voice. “Any word from Sarah?” 

“No, nothing yet,” Bryce said, sounding legitimately regretful. “I was wondering if you wanted to spend some time at the pier tomorrow. I’m craving salt water taffy.” 

“And I’m craving kicking your butt at the arcade games.” 

“You wish,” Bryce retorted. “Meet up there around three? We can grab some dinner--loser pays?” 

“Sounds good,” Chuck said, smiling. He suspected that this wasn’t about salt water taffy--not really. Bryce was really trying to keep him busy until Sarah returned, but he appreciated how his friend was looking out for him. “See you at three.” 

“Bye,” Bryce said, hanging up. 

Chuck slid his phone back into his pocket. Now, things were better than good. Sarah would be home any day now, he was going to be an uncle, and he had great friends. 

After so many months of worrying and waiting, it was nearly time to pick up his life again. Starting with reuniting with Sarah and celebrating their wedding, then spending time with his family, facing new challenges at work with the imminent defeat of Fulcrum . . . 

Yeah, things were awesome. 

With a grin, Chuck knocked lightly on Ellie and Devon’s door and then stepped into their apartment, ready to spend some extra time with them and the future member of the family.

XXX

“So just how excited are you to have Sarah come home?” Bryce asked, firing the laser pistol at the video game screen. 

“Do you even have to ask?” Chuck said, glancing at Bryce before returning to picking off giant alien bugs on his screen. 

“Dumb question, I admit. But I was hoping it would rattle you a little. Because when you start thinking about Sarah, you get all dreamy-eyed . . . ” Bryce snickered under his breath as he took out a few more attackers.

“Lame. Even for you, Larkin.” 

“Had to try, Bartowski. Damn, I wasted my teenage years on girls--I should have been playing video games.” Bryce groaned when his character fell victim to the insect army. 

Chuck grinned as he finished off the last bug and holstered the gun. “You want to try something else or are you ready to feed me?” 

“Let’s eat,” Bryce said, sliding on his sunglasses. “Maybe with food you’ll slow down.” 

“You’re never going to beat me,” Chuck said, adjusting his Dodgers hat as they stepped out of the dimly-lit arcade and into the sunshine. “Because I was the one who wasted my teenage years of video games.” 

Bryce chuckled. “But that worked out for you. Job, fiancée, family . . .” 

“I got lucky,” Chuck said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans as they walked along the pier. 

“‘Cause you’re a good guy. And good guys do finish first.” 

He looked at Bryce. Through the months without Sarah, it had been Bryce who had helped keep Chuck sane. Encouraging him at work, watching out for him, keeping his spirits up. It seemed like the strain was finally getting to Bryce, though, because he certainly seemed down. 

“You’re a good guy, too,” Chuck said. 

“Uh-huh, sure,” Bryce said, eyeing Chuck over the tops of his sunglasses. “You just think everyone’s a good person.” 

“That’s not true. I’m not as naïve as I used to be,” Chuck said, shouldering past a group of teenagers who were whispering to each other. “I know there’s plenty of evil people in the world. So if I say you’re a good guy, I mean it.” 

His friend blew out a breath. “Yeah, I know. I just . . . I didn’t expect my life to turn out like this.” 

“Who does expect their life to work out, just as they planned it?” Chuck asked philosophically. “I mean, if mine had, I’d be making big money at a software company, getting ready to go out on my own and make a mint.” 

“Instead of the minor shekels you make as a government agent?” Bryce asked with a small grin. 

“Exactly,” Chuck said with a grin, before growing serious. “But that means I would have never met Sarah . . . never have gotten to spend a day like today with one of my best friends . . . I have to say, I’m glad that things didn’t work out the way I planned them.” 

They walked in silence for a few moments, the sounds of dozens of conversations and the amusement park keeping the pause in conversation from becoming awkward. 

“I don’t know if I ever thought about what kind of life I wanted,” Bryce said hesitantly. “Just . . . just what I didn’t want.” 

“The life your parents had planned for you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I knew I didn’t want to work at my dad’s company and sell insurance. So when I got recruited . . . I just kind of fell into this work.” 

Chuck nodded, looking at Bryce. He looked thoughtful, but not brooding or depressed. That was reassuring. Bryce had always seemed to have it made when they were in college: he was handsome, charming, a good student without needing to work very hard. The complete package. It hadn’t surprised Chuck, after he had been recruited, to find out that Bryce already worked for the CIA. But to hear Bryce’s doubts, after seeing him struggle to adjust to life beyond his work, was an eye-opening experience. And something that Chuck wanted to help him with. Knowing Bryce, though, it would have to be done slowly, subtly. So for now, it was probably better to not ask any questions and let Bryce open up in his own time.

“You want to buy me Mexican or seafood?” Chuck asked. 

“Seems stupid to be this close to the ocean and not get seafood,” Bryce said, smirking a little. “And we are not stupid.” 

“Nope,” Chuck said, grinning at him. Bryce followed him as they cut through more of the crowd and got in line for one of the seafood restaurants along the pier. Once they were seated on the restaurant’s patio with beers in front of them and an umbrella providing some shade, Bryce changed the subject. 

“So how’s everything with the wedding going? I guess with Sarah back soon, it’s now a rush to the finish line.” 

Leaning back in his chair, Chuck took a healthy swallow from his beer. “Man, planning a wedding is hard. I mean, I helped a lot with Ellie’s, but it doesn’t compare when it’s your own. And not having Sarah around . . .” Chuck shook his head. “The easiest decisions were the hardest, because I kept overthinking them and wondering if Sarah would like whatever I chose and what if she hated it?” 

“And how is that different from you making any other decision in your life?” Bryce asked, lifting his eyebrows as he took a sip of his beer. 

“This was so much worse,” Chuck said. “Like, tablecloth color. I spent an hour talking with Ellie about the color of the tablecloths during the reception. And you saw how I was with the band vs. DJ question.” 

Bryce groaned. “I had nearly forgotten that.”

He winced a little. “Sorry.” 

Waving his hand in the air, Bryce batted away his apology. “It’s okay. But you’re ready to go now?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Chuck said, resting the bottle of beer on his knee. “The one thing left is something that Sarah wanted to do.” 

“The dress, right?” Bryce shook his head. “She’s going to be cutting it close.” 

“You have seen my fiancée, right?” Chuck asked. “Blonde, about five foot eight, supermodel gorgeous with a figure to match? Any dress would look perfect on her.” 

Bryce rolled his eyes. “Yes, I do remember what Sarah looks like. But two weeks to get a wedding dress is not a lot of time.”

“I know,” Chuck said, peeling the label off his beer. “But she’ll do it. She’s Sarah, she can do anything.” 

“Is that really good, though?” Bryce asked, leaning forward in his chair a little. “To put so much on her. To think she’s Wonder Woman and Jean Grey, rolled up in one even-hotter woman?” 

“What, you think I don’t see Sarah’s flaws?” Chuck laughed a little. “Believe me, I do.”

“Then tell me,” Bryce challenged. “What makes Sarah less than perfect?”

That made Chuck sit back and really think this through. It was true, he knew Sarah had flaws like any other person. But actually talking about them with someone other than her was different from just thinking about Sarah and all the quirks that made her into the woman she was.

“Well . . . she’s not an early riser, at all. And her feet get really cold, so I started trapping them under mine and warming them up, so I wouldn’t brush up against those ice blocks in the middle of the night.” 

“That’s it?” Bryce asked. “She’s a slugabed with cold feet? Those are charming foibles, not out-and-out flaws.” 

Chuck sighed and took a sip of beer. “Okay . . . but I just want it on record that I’m only doing this because you asked.” He waited for Bryce to nod in agreement, then he plunged in. “Sarah is amazing. But . . . she’s really reserved. I still don’t know a lot about her past--she didn’t want her father at the wedding, although I think that was more because she knew he couldn’t be there. Not that I know why he couldn’t be there. And she’s never talked about her mother. I just worry that she’s holding so much in, stuff that she could talk over with me, with Ellie, with you even, and deal with it. Because with all of that inside her, how can she really process anything?”

Bryce opened his mouth to speak but Chuck just kept going. “She thinks I’m the smart one, when she’s so much more intelligent than she gives herself credit for. Just in general, she’s way too hard on herself and holds herself to such high standards. I worry what’s going to happen when she fails and if it will send her into some kind of spiral--because it would be so hard to watch that. Oh, and she’s a slob. She leaves her shoes everywhere and she never pre-rinses the dishes before she puts them in the dishwasher and if it wasn’t for me, the bathroom would look like that one in the frat house, up on the third floor, the one that only got used by the pledges and was off-limits to any girls you liked.” 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Bryce said, cutting Chuck off. “I believe you. Sarah is not perfect and you are well aware of that.” He looked at Chuck and let out a low whistle. “And here I thought you two were some fairy tale.” 

And now he felt bad. Like he had just betrayed Sarah. “All those things, though, they make her Sarah,” Chuck protested. “And the thing is, not many people know about any of that. The fact that she’s let me in enough to be herself around me, to be Sarah and not Special Agent Walker . . . that’s special. That’s what makes me love her.” 

“And the face of a supermodel and how good she looks in a bikini mean nothing?” 

“They mean less than you’d think,” Chuck said simply. 

For a long moment, Bryce looked at Chuck. Then he grinned. “You’ve got it bad, Chuck. Like, seriously bad. It’s a good thing you’re marrying Sarah soon, or else you just might explode from all the sappiness. God, what’s going to happen when Sarah gets pregnant?”

Chuck froze. Sarah, pregnant? Walking around with a baby bump, clear evidence to the whole world that she loved him enough to lose her figure, combining her amazing-yet-not-completely-perfect genes with his much-more-flawed ones? And what might their baby be like? Smart, yes. Hopefully with looks like Sarah’s: the pale skin and the big blue eyes that held entire universes. Maybe with his sense of humor? If they had a baby, he’d have someone he could show the whole world. Movies and books, how to walk and talk, why it was good to share and how important friends and family were. And he’d get to do all that with Sarah by his side. 

It was such an amazing, wonderful, absolutely crazy thought that he didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him before. Because it was a really, really awesome idea: having children with Sarah. Not to mention completely terrifying. 

Snickers from the other side of the table pulled Chuck out of his reverie. “If you could see your face,” Bryce said, still sniggering. “I could literally see the fear.” 

“You are such a jerk,” Chuck said, balling up a napkin and tossing it at him. Bryce caught it easily and threw it back at Chuck. Before it could elevate into an outright war, Chuck let the napkin ball drop to the table. He grinned and pulled the menus from the holder on the table. “Just for that, you’re definitely covering the drinks, too. Let’s order some food, and another round.” He held up his nearly-empty beer. 

“If you’re trying to drink me under the table, you’ll need a lot more beers,” Bryce said, opening up the menu. 

Chuck huffed out a laugh and grinned at Bryce, his arms folded on top of his menu, when suddenly he heard the distinctive pops of mid-caliber gunfire. He looked around quickly, only to jerk when a fiery pain began to spread through his midsection. It hurt--it hurt so much . . . 

There were lots of shouting and screams. People were pushing past his chair, trying to get into the restaurant and under cover, but Chuck couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. All he could do was feel the pain pulsing through him, feel the sweat start to roll down his face, the sensation that he was on fire. 

Bryce was yelling, too, directing people and helping them. That’s what Chuck should be doing. He was a government agent, he should be helping . . . 

But . . . oh, God. There was blood on his chest. A lot of blood, spreading across the t-shirt with the funny little monster on it, the shirt that Sarah had bought him for his birthday last year. 

He really liked that t-shirt, too.

“Chuck!” Bryce’s voice sounded frantic. “Where are you hit?” 

Looking up at his friend, Chuck felt dizzy. Out of control. He tried to speak. There were things he needed to tell Bryce, so Bryce could tell Sarah. Like how much he loved her. That her engagement ring was in the box on his nightstand, next to the picture of them in Rome, right where he could see it just before he went to sleep and right after he woke up. 

But instead, he could only pass out. 

XXX

A slow, rhythmic beeping was the first thing he was aware of. 

Then the cold. 

His eyelids felt like they each weighed a ton. He tried to lift them, but once the lights in the room hit his eyeballs, he scrunched his eyes shut again. 

What was going on? The last thing he remembered was . . . was . . . 

Chuck felt a stab of panic. And it hurt. He told himself to calm down, but he just couldn’t. He was cold yet sweaty and his chest hurt worse than anything he’d ever experienced, worse than any of the Intersect uploads or testing, and that beeping had gotten a lot faster--

A soft hand brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Chuck? Chuck, you need to calm down. Relax.” 

That sounded like Ellie . . . was something wrong with him? Had something bad happened? 

“Ellie?” At least, he tried to say that. What came out sounded more like a slurred “Eellllllll?” But it must have been something she understood, with being a doctor and--doctor! 

He must be in the hospital!

Once again, Chuck tried to get his eyes open, only to squint them shut. He felt like his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest and it hurt to breathe. 

“Charles Irving Bartowski! You will calm down and you will calm down now!”

Uh-oh. That was Ellie’s serious voice. Coupled with his full name, it was enough to make his mind stop spinning in all directions, enough for him to focus on slowing his breathing and trying to do as Ellie told him. 

“Easy, Chuck, easy.” That sounded like Devon . . . 

“That’s it, Chuck.” Bryce. Bryce was here, too. Oh, man, Ellie didn’t know that Bryce was even in Los Angeles--and if Morgan hated Bryce, Ellie was a close second in that race. Had she yelled at him? 

“You need to keep your heart rate nice and steady, Chuck, until we figure out what’s wrong.” 

There were a bunch of noises, sounds he didn’t recognize, and then there was an awareness of something cold moving through his veins and a feeling of relief. When he tried to open his eyes this time, the light didn’t hurt as much. He got them halfway opened, enough to see Ellie pulling a syringe away from an IV in his arm. 

Devon was standing behind Ellie, holding a chart and looking worried. Bryce was crouching beside Chuck, next to the--

Was he in a bathtub?

“What--what’s wrong?” he asked, his words a little less clumsy than before. 

Bryce rubbed his forearm. “You got shot. When we were having dinner at the pier?” 

Now he remembered. Chuck tried to keep his reaction under control. He nodded a little. 

“They got you into surgery nice and quick, since the bullets had perforated your lungs and were close to your heart,” Devon explained. “It went fine, but now . . .” 

Chuck tried to lick his lips, but there was no saliva in his mouth. Ellie leaned down and fed him some ice chips. 

“So cold . . . why am I cold?” Chuck asked, looking up at his sister. His big sister, who was pregnant and looking so, so worried. 

“You were out of surgery an hour and spiked a fever,” Ellie said softly. “Up to 105. We’ve got you in an ice bath to try and keep your temperature down until we can figure out what’s causing the fever.” 

He wrinkled his forehead. “Infection?” He had spent enough time reading Ellie’s medical textbooks to know that a postoperative fever was usually caused by some kind of infection. 

“You don’t have any other symptoms of an infection,” Ellie explained. “At least, not from any test we’ve run so far.” 

“But there’s a few more we’re going to run now,” Devon said, leaning down and patting Chuck’s shoulder gently. “Don’t worry, Chuckster. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this.” 

Chuck nodded a little. “Okay,” he said, still feeling very confused and lost. 

Ellie kissed his cheek. “We’ll be back soon. Get some more rest, Chuck.” 

The last thing he wanted to do was make Ellie upset. Not when she was in her condition. So he did his best to smile at her, only for Ellie’s face to crumple a little. She sniffed and hurried out of the room. 

Turning his head as best he could, Chuck looked at Bryce. “What’s wrong? The baby?” 

Bryce shifted in his chair. “Um, no.” 

That wasn’t good. “What is it?” He didn’t know how much longer he’d stay awake, and he needed to make this time count. But a sheepish, uncertain Bryce meant trouble. 

“I . . . I kinda told Ellie and Devon that you’re a spy. And that me and Sarah are spies, too.” 

His eyes widened and he very nearly jumped out of the tub from his shock. “What?!?”

“Calm down!” Bryce said, holding his hands up. “Calm down and listen!” 

The pain tearing through his body nearly drowned out Bryce’s words. But through all his grit and determination, Chuck made himself breathe, slowing his heart rate. 

“You were shot with bullets that are lousy for sniper work, so it means the shooter had to be nearby,” Bryce explained quickly. “But neither of us saw who shot you, and there were no eyewitness accounts, nothing on surveillance video, either. And then, when they got the bullets out of you, they found these.” 

He held up a small microchip. Chuck felt the first sign of a flash coming on, but that was the last thing he needed right now, so he quickly shut his eyes. “No--can’t flash.” 

“Oh! Right. Sorry. Um, you can open your eyes now.” 

Getting his eyes back open was difficult, to say the least. Bryce had hidden the chip and waited until Chuck was looking at him to speak. “They’re tracking chips. Used in smart bullets to identify a target in the middle of a crowd.” 

With his injuries and the revelation that Bryce had told his sister about his job, Chuck knew he wasn’t thinking as fast as normal. His dazed expression must have clued Bryce in, because he rested a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. 

“You were targeted, Chuck. With some new kind of weapon that locked on to you. And more than getting shot, it looks like some kind of foreign agent was introduced into your body. Something that’s . . . that’s causing the fever,” Bryce said, choosing his words carefully. 

“But why tell Ellie?” he said, unable to see the reason for Bryce sharing that secret. 

Bryce ran his hands through his hair. “It was an accident. I mentioned Sarah getting extracted, and . . . and she didn’t know anything about it, and then she got like a bloodhound when I tried to cover up my mistake.” 

“Sarah!” Chuck yelped.

With the time difference between here and Russia, and how long he must have been in surgery and unconscious, Sarah had to be out of Volkoff’s clutches by now. It was a long shot that she would be here already, but she should definitely be in transit. He hated the thought of Sarah not knowing what was going on, getting off the plane and dealing with the shock--

Suddenly, the look on Bryce’s face made his thoughts skid to a halt. An icy feeling, one entirely different from what he was already experiencing, slithered down his spine. 

There was something wrong with Sarah. 

“Bryce--where’s Sarah?” 

“I’m sorry, Chuck . . . from what we can tell, she--she didn’t arrive at the extraction point. And she hasn’t checked in yet.” 

Chuck swallowed. He didn’t know what he was feeling. There was too many emotions inside him to isolate just one, or two, or sixteen. No one knew where Sarah was. No one knew if Sarah was alive. 

What if she was gone? What if Volkoff had killed her, what if he had shot her and watched the life drain from her eyes and just left her body somewhere? 

His heart was racing. Like it was trying to outrun all these possible outcomes, trying to outrun a world that didn’t have Sarah in it. And if in the effort to do so, it happened to give out, Chuck wasn’t sure he cared at the moment. 

After a few moments, Bryce patted his shoulder, a bit awkwardly. “There was a message from Sarah, though.” 

“There was?” Chuck asked, feeling hope flutter inside him. 

Bryce nodded. “It came through on the Morse code transmitter on her watch, time-stamped Sunday at 7:33am, Moscow time. It said . . .” He paused, as if gathering up his courage. “It said, ‘I love you, Chuck’.” 

How could four short, simple words make your heart break? Maybe it was because he knew Sarah. Knew that she would only use official communication to send a message like that if she thought she was facing death. If she knew there was no way out. 

It was her way of saying goodbye. 

He closed his eyes. He wanted to be alone. No, he needed to be alone. To have some time to act however he wanted, feel whatever he felt. Bryce probably thought Sarah’s message would reassure him, give him hope. But it didn’t. Because he knew she must be gone. 

“I’ll come back later,” Bryce said quietly. There was the sound of rustling cloth and a chair being pushed back, and then there was just silence, only interrupted by the beeping of the heart monitor. 

Time seemed to slow. Whatever Ellie had given him earlier must have had some kind of mild sedative, because he sank down into a hazy world of sound and soft light. A world where the pain was physical, not emotional. 

At some point he must have actually drifted off, because the next thing Chuck knew, someone was shaking him by the shoulder. 

“Go ‘way . . .” he muttered. 

“He’s kind of asleep,” Chuck heard Bryce say. There was a pause, and then Bryce spoke again. “He’s okay for now. But you’ve got to stop hiding and get to a safehouse--you need to get extracted.”

So Bryce was talking to someone on the phone. Someone that he was worried about. Chuck tried to recapture that lovely painless floating feeling, but the ice had mostly melted and his temperature must be going up because he could feel the heat coming off himself and he was curious about who Bryce was talking to. Because now he really sounded really worried. 

“You’ve got to make contact with the Agency . . . there’s no way you can find the antidote on your own, without any resources or backup . . . I’m the last person to tell anyone to go running to Graham, but this time you need to do just that . . . Damn it, Sarah, you should just get here and be with Chuck.” 

He hurt so much. But the pain became irrelevant when he heard Sarah’s name.

“Sarah?” he said raspily, his voice sounding low and thick to his ears. He couldn’t get his eyes open--all his energy was going to talking. 

Bryce must not have heard him, because he kept talking to Sarah. “Believe me, Graham is scrambling every team and resource he has to cure Chuck. You need to debrief so they know where to go, what to target.” 

Chuck swallowed, wincing at the soreness of his throat, before trying again. “Sarah . . .” He didn’t really know why Bryce was talking about work right now. After all, Sarah was home now, and the wedding was just around the corner. He hoped whatever was making him feel so weak wouldn’t interfere with their plans. They had waited so long . . . he didn’t want to wait any longer to have Sarah as his wife.

“Going all vigilante isn’t going to save Chuck!” 

God, Bryce was deaf. Putting his all into this one, Chuck managed to shout, “Sarah!” 

“Chuck?” Bryce said. “Hold on, Sarah--Chuck, what is it?” 

“Phone . . . gimme,” Chuck said. He had to talk to Sarah. Had to tell her that whatever was going on, she could just forget about it and let other people deal with it. 

“She’s being so damn stubborn,” Bryce said. “She won’t come in.” 

What did that mean? He needed to talk to her. Tell her she only had to worry about the wedding. “Sarah . . .”

And then he felt the press of a cell phone against his ear. At first, all he heard was the soft crackle of static and the noise of a bustling urban center. Then, just above a whisper, he heard her. 

“Chuck?” 

“Sarah,” he said, trying to sound stronger. He didn’t want her to think anything would get in the way of the two of them getting married. 

There was a choked sob. “Chuck, baby, I--I’m so sorry . . .” 

“Shhh,” he said. “S’okay. I’m okay. . .” 

He needed to stop and take a few deep breaths, feeling the burn in his lungs. Over the phone, he could hear Sarah struggling and he wished she was here so he could hold her hand. So he could see her and tell her that it was okay. If they were together, they could do anything. Whatever was bothering her, he would do anything he had to do in order to fix it--and he knew that went double for her. 

“It’s my fault, what happened--and I know how to fix it. I just--I need to find the antidote for the thorium, and as soon as I’ve got that, I’m coming home.” 

It took all his concentration to follow what she was saying. And even then, he was still confused. But Sarah sounded like she knew what she was doing--so he just had to put his trust in Sarah.

“Back by August 20th,” he said. “Got a date.” 

“I remember,” she said, sounding more pulled-together already. “Nothing’s going to make me miss that.” She paused. “I love you, Chuck.” 

“Love you, Sarah,” he said, feeling unconsciousness come closer and closer. 

Just as he was passing out, he thought he heard her say, “Save you later.” And that made the darkness seem just a little less scary. 

Because Chuck knew that Sarah was out there. She was out there, saving people--saving him. And no matter how long the odds, she’d save the whole world and get back in time to find the perfect wedding dress and marry him. 

She was Sarah Walker. She could do anything.

End, Chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

They let her walk out of the Volkoff Building. 

Out of everything that had just happened, that was what Sarah had the most trouble grasping. Volkoff and Frost let her go. Hadn’t even bothered escorting her out of the building. It was like they could care less about her. 

Like they thought they had nothing to fear from her. 

And at the moment, Sarah wasn’t surprised they thought that. Because she didn’t feel very dangerous. She felt like a woman just moments away from bursting into heaving, body-wracking sobs. 

In a daze, Sarah walked away from the Volkoff Building. Her mind and heart were too shocked to walk with any direction or logic. So she just got lost in Moscow’s streets.

One of Volkoff’s thugs had used the Norseman on Chuck. Right now, on the other side of the world, the man she loved more than anything--the man that was the center of her whole future--was bleeding, poisoned, perhaps already too injured for any medical attention . . . 

Sarah stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the pushes from the people walking around her. What was she doing? This wasn’t the time to fall apart. Chuck needed her. And she was the only person who could save him. 

Looking around, she noticed a drugstore across the street. She always kept a few 500 ruble notes on her, and that would be enough for what she needed to do. 

Barely checking the oncoming traffic, Sarah ran across the street. Before she stepped into the drugstore, she yanked off the black wig and shook loose her own hair. It had been several weeks since she had dyed it, so there was a few inches of blonde before the black started. Good--if Frost and Volkoff changed their minds about viewing her as a threat, looking different from any Volkoff-provided description would help keep her off the radar. 

Going through the aisles of the store quickly, she picked up two cheap t-shirts, a box of hair dye, a scarf, a pair of sunglasses, and a prepaid phone that could make international calls. The phone made a big dent in her cash supply, but she had to have it. And although it had been a while since she had to pick pockets, she was confident enough in her skills to be willing to risk it once her cash was exhausted. With a credit card or two, she would be able to get by. But she could worry about that once all her money was gone. 

With her supplies, Sarah stepped out onto the street, her mind working. It welcomed the need to make plans, to come up with a strategy. That way, she could push her fear and worry and self-doubt and pain to the back of her mind. All she wanted was to find a way to get on a plane and get to Burbank. To be with Chuck, in case . . . 

No. She wouldn’t let him die. And she knew how to save him. 

She had to get to Smolensk. Once she got there, she could talk her way inside Volkoff’s R&D division. She could find the antidote for the Norseman and only then would she contact the CIA. They were bound to blame her for what happened--blame her for putting the Intersect at risk. Not to mention the little problem of Volkoff gaining access to the CIA’s servers. 

If she couldn’t save Chuck, she would be fired so fast it would make her head spin. Probably arrested to boot. If she contacted Graham, he would hold her and keep her far away from Chuck, while the clock counted down to the end and the CIA fumbled around to find the antidote. It was up to her to save Chuck. Going rogue was her only option at this point. 

Sarah took a deep breath. She never thought she’d have to do something like that. But it was for Chuck. And for him, she would do anything. 

The phone inside the thin plastic bag was practically calling out to her. If she called Bryce, she could find out how Chuck was doing. But it had barely been an hour; Chuck was probably in surgery getting the smart bullets removed. Bryce wouldn’t know anything yet. And she needed to protect herself. 

One of the public toilets that dotted the streets of Moscow was up ahead. Although they were always smelly and disgusting, a public toilet would have to do for what she needed to do. Dropping a coin into the slot to gain access, Sarah stepped inside and got to work. 

After the longest hour of her life, Sarah walked out of the toilet. Her hair was now a muddy brown shade, although hints of the black showed through in places--not that they were all that visible with the scarf tied over her damp hair. She had swapped her button-down blouse for one of the t-shirts and put on the sunglasses. It didn’t feel like enough of a disguise, but it would have to do. 

Moscow was slowly waking up on this Sunday morning. Sarah moved through the growing crowds, trying to appear like a young woman on her way to church or doing some early-morning errands. In reality, she was trying to organize her thoughts. 

Before she appeared in Smolensk, she would need weapons. All she had now were the throwing knives in her boot heels, and while she was sure she could take out the scientists with a few punches, the guards that protected Volkoff’s Smolensk facility were very capable. 

There was also the problem of how to get out of Russia without a passport. There was no way she could go back to the Volkoff lodging house and get her things. Volkoff and Frost might have let her go, but they weren’t going to make her escape easy. 

At that moment, Mary Bartowski’s betrayal hit her. The woman who would soon be her mother-in-law had played her. Used her. And stood by while her lover--because it was clear now that Frost and Volkoff were sexual partners--used the world’s greatest weapon on her only son. 

How could she have done that? What had made her so cold? Frost said she had married Stephen Bartowski to keep him in line--did that mean she was actually a Russian agent who had infiltrated the CIA? It sounded like something out of a movie, those James Bond films that Chuck liked to watch when he wasn’t feeling well. But whoever she had been, at this time Frost was Chuck’s mother by blood only. 

Sarah could feel her lower lip getting raw in the spots where she was nibbling on it. But she felt so embarrassed and ashamed of her actions. Maybe it would be better to let the CIA fire her--or try to quit before they could fire her. She had made critical misjudgements and threatened important CIA resources. Maybe if she called Graham and--

With an emphatic shake of her head, Sarah stopped that line of thought. Now wasn’t the time to start doubting herself. She could do this. She just needed a little help. And fortunately, she happened to know someone who could help her. 

It was fitting that the best place she could find to make a phone call was inside a McDonald’s, that bastion of America. The restaurant was half-full, with several loud conversations going on. And she needed to eat, since her next meal was uncertain. 

The greasy food wasn’t healthy in the slightest, but it filled her up and gave her more energy than she thought it would. She slowly sipped her coffee, waiting until the conversations seemed the loudest, before pulling out the prepaid phone and dialing a number she had memorized three months ago. 

The phone on the other end rang five times, then ten. Sarah was preparing herself to leave a message when there was a click and a grunt. “Casey.” 

Holding on to the phone tightly, she spoke quietly. “Casey, it’s Sarah.” 

“Walker? What’s going on?” 

“Have you heard about Chuck?” she asked, looking around the restaurant to see if anyone was paying too much attention to her. 

“Chuck? No . . . what’s wrong?” Casey asked gruffly. It might be her imagination, though, but she thought there was a little worry deep down. 

She took a deep breath. “I--I messed up and Chuck got hurt. Now I’m stranded in Moscow, the CIA is gunning for me, and I’m the only one who can save Chuck. But I need help.” 

Laying it all out like that was risky and dangerous. Telling him what was going on would remove plausible deniability for him. And if he actually helped her, he could get into trouble with the CIA, too, not to mention the NSA. 

But she needed someone to know how serious this was. Someone who would understand that it was bad enough that she was asking for help. 

“Damn Russians,” Casey said succinctly. “What do you need?”

“Are you sure?”

“Sarah, what do you need?” Casey said, his voice a mix of long-suffering patience, annoyance and actual sympathy. It was so good to hear that, to feel a little less alone, that she had to close her eyes for a moment. 

“Money. Guns. A passport. And I need all of it fast. I have to get to Smolensk.” 

She could hear noises over the phone, what sounded like Casey scribbling notes. “You want a car?” 

In her planning, she had thought she would take the train again. But a car would save her time and let her be much more mobile. So she nodded. “If you can arrange that, yes.” 

“The passport will be the tricky thing, but I’ve got people who can get it done.” There was a pause, as if he was thinking, and then Casey grunted. “Gonna need about nine hours. You able to wait, or you need a safe house?” 

“They let me leave, Casey. They didn’t see me as a threat. So as far as I can tell, no one’s following me.” 

“You’re gonna make ‘em realize just how big a mistake that was, huh?” She could practically hear his smirk. It made her smile a little--and feel a wave of confidence. Because if Casey thought she was still dangerous, even when making an emotional decision like going rogue to save Chuck . . . it meant that Frost and Volkoff had seriously screwed up. 

“I’m going to do my best,” she said quietly. 

Casey grunted. “Call me in nine hours and I’ll have you covered.”

“Okay,” Sarah said, taking a breath. “Casey . . . thank you.” 

“Yeah,” he said, hanging up the phone without saying goodbye. 

Sarah slid the phone into her pocket and leaned back in the booth, finishing her coffee. With nine hours to kill, it gave her a lot of time with her thoughts. A lot of time to stay on guard. She looked at her watch: ten a.m. It felt much later than that. Just three hours ago, she had been walking into Volkoff Industries, thinking about today’s extraction and getting home to Chuck. Seeing him for the first time in months, holding him tightly as she told him that she had brought his mother home to him. 

Once she didn’t arrive at the extraction point in four hours, the CIA would definitely start looking for her, if they weren’t already. For now, she was a ghost, caught in limbo. And she had to find a way to stay focused until she could call Casey back. 

Standing up, Sarah threw away her trash and walked out of the restaurant. Sliding her hands into the pockets of her trousers, the plastic bag with her supplies swinging from her arm, she started walking. If she was moving, maybe she would be okay. 

XXX

The nature of time was a cruel bitch. 

How else to explain what she had gone through in this day? Each minute had felt like an hour; an hour felt like a day. She couldn’t remember the last time she had over half a day with nothing to occupy herself. Even on those lazy weekend days with Chuck, there had been things like meals or workouts or errands to fill up the hours, to make the time pass. 

She had none of that now. With limited funds, she wanted to be careful with the money she had left. Pickpocketing was definitely a last resort, if Casey wasn’t able to come through in time. There was only so much food and drink she could consume, only so much time she could linger in cafes. And she didn’t want to be too stationary, especially once the CIA realized she hadn’t shown up for extraction. 

Fortunately, Moscow wasn’t too difficult a city to walk around, especially since public transportation was out due to surveillance cameras. But there were plenty of tourist spots, crowded with people, for her to linger in. 

By five-thirty, though, she was ready to crack. There was still an hour and a half before she could contact Casey. With all the walking, she knew she had developed some blisters on her feet. The bright sunshine made her sweaty and caused a mild sunburn to begin showing on her arms. And worst of all . . . she started thinking. 

What if she wasn’t in time? What if she found the antidote, only to arrive in Burbank when it was too late? If Chuck had succumbed to thorium poisoning, would he die in agony, his body burning up from the inside out? Would he wonder what had happened to her? Wish she was there? 

And then her thoughts took a dark turn. If she saved Chuck . . . she would have to tell him what happened. Explain her role in all this. She would have to admit, to the person she never wanted to hurt, that she had caused him to suffer such immense pain. 

Her legs felt shaky. Somehow, she made her way to one of the benches lining the square and collapsed onto it. Burying her face in her hands, Sarah tried to keep her breathing even. Tried not to cry. 

Because what if Chuck couldn’t forgive her? She felt ashamed for even thinking it, since she had never seen any sign that Chuck could carry that kind of grudge against anyone. Not even Bryce or his father merited that. No . . . he would probably forgive her. 

Maybe the problem was, she wasn’t sure she could forgive herself. It was her fault that this had happened to Chuck. There had been too many assignments she had completed for Volkoff without trying to undermine the job. She could have been doing more to tamper with equipment, sabotage plans, something other than acting like she really did work for Volkoff. 

Ever since she had gotten the phone this morning, she had been fighting the desire to call Bryce. To find out how Chuck was doing. Maybe . . . maybe she should stop fighting. Maybe if she could hear that Chuck was okay, she’d be able to breathe, to think. 

Taking a deep breath, Sarah pulled out the phone and dialed Bryce’s cell phone number. She wrapped her free arm around herself, waiting impatiently for Bryce to pick up.

“Hello?” 

His voice sounded choked, sad. Like he was feeling a bit of what she felt. 

Licking her lips, she spoke softly. “Are--are you still taking care of Chuck?”

Bryce’s intake of breath was audible. Then he whispered, “Sarah?”

“It--it’s me,” Sarah said, looking around and trying to appear like a woman just having a normal phone call. 

“Oh, God--we thought you were dead. Especially when you missed extraction.” 

“I can’t get extracted yet.” Sarah paused. “Is--is Chuck . . .?”

The wait for Bryce to speak felt like ages. Made her consider, for just a moment, what her life might be like if she lost Chuck. “He’s hanging in there. He’s tough.” 

It was like her heart started beating again. Like she could think again. 

“Sarah, the doctors, Ellie and Devon--they really don’t know what they’re dealing with,” Bryce said. “Do you know what Volkoff used on Chuck?” 

“I do,” Sarah said, feeling relieved that she could at least pass along some information to Chuck’s doctors. Enough to give them someplace to start. “It was called the Norseman. A gun that fires smart bullets, and each bullet deposits thorium inside the body, to poison the victim.” 

“That is . . . if this was any other situation, I’d say that was really smart,” he said, sounding a bit frazzled. 

Sarah sighed. “Me, too. With two bullets, Chuck has enough thorium inside him to kill him slowly. You need to tell the doctors that an antidote is coming.” 

“Okay, that’s--wait. Is that why you can’t get extracted?” 

“I’m hiding for the time being,” Sarah admitted. She swallowed, unable to wait any longer. “Can I talk to Chuck now?” 

He blew out a breath, then said, “Hold on.” 

She couldn’t hear anything for a few moments, then Bryce came back on. “He’s kind of asleep.” 

“Kind of asleep? What does that mean?” Sarah asked, feeling a spark of anger. 

“He’s okay for now. But you’ve got to stop hiding and get to a safehouse--you need to get extracted.” 

Of all the times for Bryce to toe the company line . . . she started arguing with him, refusing to give in. Sarah couldn’t understand why he was pushing for her to come in, but between his insistence that she report for extraction and his refusal to let her talk to Chuck, she was ready to scream. 

Suddenly, Bryce said, “Chuck? Hold on, Sarah--Chuck, what is it?” 

Even with pressing the phone against her ear, she couldn’t make out what Chuck was saying. Bryce muttered something, then the sound changed. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew that Chuck was now on the phone. 

Hesitantly, she closed her eyes, trying to picture him. “Chuck?” 

“Sarah . . . ” 

Oh, God. 

He sounded so weak. Not tired, not emotionally drained. Weak. As if he could barely speak, but was making an effort so he could talk to her. Somehow, hearing his voice, so thin and faint, made everything hurt so much more. She felt like she was being pressed down, like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Although really, she just had the weight of one precious, six-foot-four man on her back. 

“Chuck, baby,” she said, trying not to burst into tears. “I--I’m so sorry . . .” 

“Shhh,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “S’okay. I’m okay . . . ” 

“It’s my fault, what happened--and I know how to fix it. I just--I need to find the antidote for the thorium, and as soon as I’ve got that, I’m coming home.” She felt like she was on the edge of completely losing it. She needed him to know that she was doing everything she could to fix this. To save him. Because she couldn’t lose him. She wouldn’t lose him. 

Sarah Walker would tear apart the earth in order to save Chuck Bartowski. 

There was a long pause, and Sarah wondered if Chuck had passed out. Then, his voice a bit weaker but with a tiny hint of steel in his words, he said, “Back by August 20th. Got a date.” 

She nearly laughed from relief. Because if he was talking about their wedding date, if it was still on . . . he couldn’t blame her for what happened. He still loved her. And with that, she felt all the confidence in the world.

“I remember,” she said, her voice gentle but determined. “Nothing’s going to make me miss that.” Sarah paused, knowing her time was almost up. But there was still one thing left to say. “I love you, Chuck.” 

“Love you, Sarah,” he said, his voice trailing off as if he was passing out. 

In a whisper, she said, “Save you later.” And then she hung up and put away the phone. 

There wasn’t anything else to say to Bryce; he knew what he needed to know. And she had gotten to talk to Chuck. She felt so much calmer. More centered. Ready to get the job done so she could go back to Burbank. 

There was still over an hour before she could call Casey, so she got up from her bench and kept walking. At the entrance to the park, though, she saw several men in dark suits. Men that made her radar go off. 

She turned and pulled up short when two men blocked her path. Men who had obviously following her. “Agent Walker,” one said, running his eyes over her. “We’re glad we found you.” His eyes lingered on her watch.

Damn it. They must have been tracking her. And her break to call home gave them enough time to move in. 

Sweeping her eyes around, she realized that they had only sent six men. That made her smirk a little. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll be glad in a minute.” 

“There’s no need to--” the other agent said, right before she punched him. 

They had remarkable self-restraint, Sarah thought as she punched, kicked and dodged. They wanted her alive and conscious--ready to talk--or else they would have shot or tranqed her. In fact, they didn’t even pull their weapons. But when Sarah got one of their guns, she wasted no time in firing non-lethal shots at the three men she hadn’t knocked out yet. 

Once the men were taken care of, Sarah tucked the gun into the back of her trousers and started moving. Once she was a few hundred yards from the scene of the crime, she quickly yanked off her watch and set it on the ground, where it shattered from the impact of her boot heel. Then she started running.

Not able to wait any longer, she took out her phone and called Casey, keeping up her run. 

When he answered, she spoke quickly. “I’m going to need everything fast, Casey. They’re looking for me.” 

“Got it,” he said. “Get to Domodedovo. There’s a red Lada Kalina, parked in the short-term VIP parking. License plate Y 175 AK 51. Keys are under the driver’s side floor mat. Passport’s under the passenger side one. Guns and money are inside the back seats. It’s gassed up and ready for you.” 

“Understood!” Sarah said, looking around for a metro station. She would need to get to the Paveletsky metro stop, where she could transfer to the suburban rail line that went to Domodedovo Airport. “Thanks, Casey!” 

“Good luck, Walker.” 

“I owe you one!” she said before hanging up. 

If luck was on her side--which would be unusual given her current situation--she could be in Smolensk by one in the morning. That would be the ideal time to sneak into the building and find the antidote. Even if she ran into some delays, she had a window of a few hours to get in and get what she needed before she had to worry too much about guards or scientists disturbing her. 

_Hold on, Chuck_ , she thought mentally. _I’m almost there_.

XXX

Casey had come through in spades. Not only did she have a flawless passport and her preferred S&W, but there was a range of other weapons: two Heckler & Koch submachine guns, more throwing knives, and most impressive of all, enough Semtex to blow a small building. 

There was also a set of dark tactical clothes, perfect for moving through a building, and a variety of electronic gadgets. Plus, a large stack of cash in rubles and Euros. 

“I owe you more than one, Casey,” Sarah said quietly. 

Quickly, she changed clothes and strapped the weapons on her body. In a small backpack, she put the explosives and some detonators, making sure to keep the two separate. She wasn’t a demolitions expert by any means, so she just hoped she wouldn’t blow herself up. The electronics went into the backpack, too.

It was just after two in the morning. The building that held Volkoff’s R&D division was dark; only a few lights interrupted the blackness. At this hour of the night, there would only be a few guards. She made sure to screw the silencer on her gun, then took a deep breath. 

Other than a half-hour catnap on her way to Smolensk, she had been awake twenty hours. She was reaching the limits of her endurance, but she knew that she couldn’t give in now. She was nearly there. 

Moving carefully through the trees that surrounded the building, Sarah paused at the edge of the clearing, not far from one of staff entrances, and watched. Crouching down, she looked for any sign of the night guards. She took a deep breath and let it out. 

This could all blow up in her face. If Frost and Volkoff had moved the antidote, she could go in and find nothing in this building. But somehow, she suspected that wasn’t the case. With how they didn’t see her as a threat, how they thought she was falling apart . . . by now, Frost and Volkoff would assume she was far away. Not so close, not practically in their backyard. Not planning to infiltrate their R&D division and steal the antidote. 

Sarah tensed as she saw one of the guards walk past. She waited two minutes, then stayed low to the ground as she hurried over the door. Fumbling with the electronic lock-cracker, she waited impatiently for the device to open the door. When it did with a soft click, she dashed inside and pulled the door shut behind her. 

It was the first step in the plan: getting into the building. She felt a brief flutter of relief, then pushed on, placing each foot carefully as she moved through the halls. If there was anywhere the antidote would be, it was in the vault in the interior of the building. 

Her heart was pounding as she looked around corners and walked through unlocked doors. It all felt too easy, but perhaps it was just because there was so much adrenaline inside her. She could practically feel her skin itching from it. It was fighting with the exhaustion starting to weigh on her. 

She wouldn’t be able to sleep until she was maybe on the plane to Burbank. Yet Sarah suspected she wouldn’t truly rest until she knew that Chuck was okay. Until she could see him getting better with her own eyes. 

What was his condition now? It had been nearly a day since he had been attacked with the Norseman, and while eight hours ago he had been hanging in there, how long could he fight? Sarah knew that Chuck had more strength than he realized, more determination and courage than he’d ever give himself credit for. But did he have enough, this time? 

Time was of the essence. She had to pick up her pace. Sarah was grateful that she had spent several days here in Smolensk, enough time to become familiar with the building. It made navigating her way through the halls much easier. 

When she reached the vault, she half-heartedly attempted the lock cracker. But as she had thought, it didn’t work. So she set down the H&K and pulled the backpack off her shoulder, taking out some plastic and a detonator. It was a risk: if she used too much explosive, she could damage what was in the vault, possibly even weaken the building’s structure. But what other choice did she have?

Sarah was so focused on molding the plastic explosive around the lock that it took a moment for the click of a gun cocking to register with her. Then she paused, her mind racing. Her Smith & Wesson was at the small of her back--as unreachable as the submachine gun a foot away. She lifted her hands into the air slowly. 

“I’m going to stand up and turn around,” she said, keeping her voice calm and even. 

When she didn’t hear anything, she did as she said she would, facing the guard who had found her. 

And she nearly laughed, because it was Heather Chandler. Heather Chandler, holding an Uzi and attempting to look calm. 

“Well, well,” Heather said, bravado in her voice. “Look what I caught. Sabina, right?” 

Thinking quickly, Sarah came up with a plan. It was crazy. Risky. Because it was all about trust. And there was none of that between them. But with some motivated self-interest . . . it just might work. 

“Actually, you were right when we met,” Sarah said, not bothering with any accent but her own. She kept her hands in the air, needing to make a connection between herself and Heather for this to work. “You do know me.” 

Heather frowned, clearly trying to place her voice. Somehow, Sarah came up with a small smile. “James Buchanan High? San Diego? Go, Cougars?”

The Uzi lowered slightly, but it was nothing compared with Heather’s jaw. “Oh my God, _Jenny Burton_?” 

“In the flesh,” Sarah said lightly. 

“What are you doing here? And why were you telling everyone you were that mean Polish chick?” 

Sarah lowered her hands a little, testing Heather. The other woman tightened her grip on her gun but otherwise didn’t make any aggressive moves. “It’s kind of a long story. Right now, there’s something I need to get. And then I’ll be out of here and no one will be any wiser.” 

“Right,” Heather said, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re using Semtex to blow off the vault door, but nobody will know about it.” 

“That’s right,” Sarah said. “Because you’re going to get out of here and leave me alone.”

“And why would I do that?” Heather asked.

“If you stay, if you keep working for Volkoff, you’ll be arrested like everyone else,” Sarah said, her eyes locked on Heather’s face. “Sure, you’re a minor flunky--guarding a building like this in the dead of night says that. But international tribunals won’t really care about that--they’d lock you up and throw away the key. Do you really want to go to prison, Heather?” 

“There’s no way the Russian authorities will do anything to Volkoff,” Heather sneered. But Sarah thought she detected the smallest shred of doubt in her voice. 

“I said international tribunals,” Sarah said, lowering her hands. “Volkoff is going to be caught, very soon. The U.S. will throw the book at him. And at all of his people they can get. And sure, you might only serve five to ten years--that’s with time off for good behavior. If you’re willing to be a good little girl and tell everything you know. Or . . . you could run. I can give you money, enough for you to get out of Russia before anyone inside Volkoff Industries would know. And telling people you worked with Volkoff . . . it’s not like anyone will be around for them to check your references. You’ll have a reputation and your freedom.” 

“You’re talking shit,” Heather blurted. “There’s no way you’d let me go.” 

“If you let me get what I need--and better yet, if you can open this vault so I don’t have to blow the door--then you bet I’ll let you go.”

Sarah didn’t mention that as soon as possible, she’d put Heather on the terrorist watch list herself. But those could be evaded, if Heather was savvy enough. She did seem to have the cockroach’s ability to come back from near-death. 

It was possible to almost see the wheels turning in Heather’s head. Then she nodded and slung her Uzi. “Okay, fine. But I want a lot of money, and I want it before I open the vault for you.” 

“I can give you five thousand rubles and five thousand Euros,” Sarah said. “But half now, and the other half when we’re out of here.” 

Heather nodded quickly. “Deal. Money, then get that Semtex off the lock.” 

Opening the backpack, Sarah pulled out the wads of cash, feeling grateful that she had only brought twenty-five hundred in each currency into the building with her and wouldn’t have to do some fast shuffling to hand over the promised amounts. It wasn’t her normal MO, but sometimes, bribes were easier, quicker and better than fighting. She handed the money over to Heather, who pocketed it. 

As Sarah scraped off the explosive, Heather stepped forward, pulling out a key card and a piece of paper. She slid the card through the lock, then punched in a code. And just like that, the vault door opened. 

The door was heavy; it took most of Sarah’s remaining strength to get it open. She bent down and picked up the submachine gun before drawing her Smith & Wesson. 

“C’mon, Burton, I’m not going to kill you now.” Heather sounded annoyed. 

“You can never be too safe,” Sarah said, scanning the shelves. She felt her heart leap when she saw the vials labeled with the Norseman project code--a piece of info she had picked up from a scientist here in Smolensk. 

Quickly pocketing the vials, Sarah stepped out of the vault and picked up the backpack. It was a bit difficult to put it on her shoulder while holding two guns, but she managed. “Okay. Now we’re going to walk out of here nice and easy. I’ll give you your money and you can find your own way from there.” 

With a shrug, Heather nodded. “Okay, Burton. Gotta say, I liked the other you better.” 

“Shut up, Chandler,” Sarah said, but there wasn’t any venom in her voice. Right now, all she could feel was hope and anticipation. She had the antidote. She had the antidote! She could save Chuck! Even though she was on the other side of the world, and the transportation home was sure to be a logistical nightmare to arrange--if she didn’t give in and call Graham, that is--it didn’t matter because Chuck just had to hold on for a little bit longer, and then she could make him better. 

Paying off Heather the rest of her money and watching her go made Sarah feel antsy. It was nearly three in the morning now, and it would take over four hours to drive to Minsk. The Russia-Belarus border was only fifty kilometers away, and Sarah knew once she was in another country she would feel a bit more secure. But now, it was a race against time. 

The trip to Burbank was like the pearls on a necklace. One bead followed another, in a chain of anxiety and worry and hope and stubborn drive. The drive to Minsk--ditching the car and the guns at the airport--booking the first westbound flight that went to a major international hub--arriving in Paris long enough to change planes and to call Bryce--”He’s getting worse, Sarah. You’ve gotta hurry.”--drifting off on the Paris to LAX flight, only to keep waking up, wondering if she had dreamed it all and she hadn’t gotten the antidote--landing in Los Angeles and renting a car--cursing the traffic as she drove as fast as she could to Westside Hospital. 

Sarah barely stopped the car before she got out. She raced towards the hospital’s doors, pulling them open and faintly hearing them bang against the adjoining walls. Running through the halls, all she could think of was Chuck. 

As she rounded the last corner, she skidded to a halt in a small waiting area. To her shock, Morgan and Bryce was sitting there, both looking drawn and haggard. But neither of them was the man she wanted to see. Panting, she could only say one thing. 

“Chuck?” 

Bryce stood up, staring at her. “You did it?” 

For her answer, she pulled out one of the vials of antidote. “I did it.” She could feel a huge, goofy smile spread across her face. It felt like the first time she had smiled--really smiled--in months. “Where’s Chuck’s room?”

“Here, here!” Bryce said, jumping into action and leading her to a closed door on the opposite side of the waiting room, Morgan nipping at their heels. Without bothering to knock, he pushed the door open. “Ellie, Devon, she did it! Sarah’s got the antidote.” 

Ellie and Devon, so professional-looking in scrubs and white coats, looked shocked. They began talking and Sarah dimly heard words like “untested” and “not sure about this.”

But all she could focus on was Chuck. 

The last time she had seen him, he had looked fairly healthy. A little tired and very sad, but healthy and whole. But now . . . he looked wasted. It should be impossible for a six-foot-four man to look small, fragile. Even from here, she could see the beads of sweat on his brow, the shivers that made his whole body shake, the way his chest went up and down as he took in shallow, thready breaths. 

He was dying. And his doctors were arguing about risk. 

“I’m not a doctor,” Sarah interrupted, forcing herself into the conversation between Ellie, Devon and Bryce. “But I know this is the antidote for the Norseman, for the thorium that’s poisoning Chuck.” She held up the small glass container, holding a magenta liquid. “You give this to Chuck and he’ll recover. I know you don’t have any way of knowing for sure--unless you trust me.”

Sarah’s eyes locked on Ellie’s. They were the two women who loved Chuck most in the world. If she could convince Ellie, there was a chance. Although either way, Chuck was getting the antidote--she just didn’t want to incapacitate Chuck’s sister and brother-in-law first. 

“I wouldn’t give this to Chuck if I didn’t think it would save him,” Sarah said softly. “We don’t have time for testing or research--look at him. We have to give him the antidote now.” 

“There’s absolutely nothing in the journals about thorium being used as a poison, let alone the existence of a way to cure it,” Devon said, sounding like he was preparing for a fight. But Ellie held up a hand. 

“Sarah’s right. What other choice do we have? If we do nothing, Chuck’s going to die.” Ellie’s voice broke a little. “At least this way, we’ve tried everything.” 

“If Sarah says this will work, she’s right.” Morgan’s voice piped up from the corner of the room. 

“Exactly,” Bryce said. 

Devon still looked reluctant, but he rested a hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Okay, babe. I’ve got it.” 

Ellie wiped at her eyes. “No, I’m okay. Sarah?” She held her hand out for the vial. Sarah handed it over, then moved to the opposite side of the bed, getting a closer look at Chuck. 

As Ellie injected the antidote, Sarah slowly took Chuck’s hand. It was clammy, clammier than it had been when they stood on that hilltop on the Project Omaha base and she haltingly told him how she felt about him. She felt weak all over at that memory. At remembering the moment when they began, and wondering if this could be the moment they ended. 

Because it was true: this might not work. Chuck could be too weakened for the antidote to take effect, it could be too long since his initial exposure for this to work . . . or it could all be a trick. The last revenge of Alexei Volkoff upon a symbol of his lover’s former life. 

Sarah held tightly to Chuck’s hand in both of hers. She perched herself on the edge of his bed, watching his face. Watching, knowing that she had put all her hopes in a chemical that was the color of a crayon. 

In that, and in Chuck’s love for her. A love that just might be strong enough to come back from near-death. 

Bending her head, she lifted his hand and lightly kissed his knuckles. And with all the love that was inside her, she willed him to come back to her. 

End, Chapter 8


	9. Epilogue

It took four hours for Chuck to start showing signs of improvement. They might have been the longest four hours of Sarah’s life. Between Ellie and Devon constantly checking on Chuck and Bryce trying to convince her to get some sleep, Sarah felt wrung out and frazzled. She just wanted to be alone with Chuck for a little while, to watch him and make sure he was on the mend. Then she could sleep. Then she could shower and eat and do all the things she had put off for the last forty-eight hours. 

Oh-so-slowly, Chuck got better. His color improved, the deathly pallor fading. He breathed easier, deeper, his lungs slowly repairing. His heart rate slowed from its frantic pace. As the thorium was cleared from his system, Ellie and Devon looked less worried. They were still concerned, since no one knew what sort of long-term impacts the poison would have on Chuck. But within twelve hours of receiving the antidote, Devon smiled widely when he said, “Chuck is no longer in immediate danger.” 

Sarah was too tired to cheer like Morgan and Bryce, and she wouldn’t cry like Ellie did. She just looked at Chuck, stroking his fingers and waiting for him to wake up. 

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with her. She fell asleep in the chair next to his bed, still holding his hand. So when Chuck woke up and squeezed her hand, she was slow to respond. 

“Sarah . . . Sarah . . .” 

At first, she thought it was a dream. But when she felt something wet against her thumb, Sarah jerked away to see Chuck nibbling on her fingers. 

His smile was very wide, even though he still clearly wasn’t a hundred percent. “Hi.” 

Without any delay, she sprang up from her chair and their arms wrapped around each other. Sarah closed her eyes and hugged him, trying not to put too much pressure on his still-fragile body. But Chuck’s arms were so warm and solid around her, just like always, that she found herself relaxing and squeezing him tightly. 

“I have to say, I’m a little disappointed that we couldn’t do the Sleeping Beauty thing. You waking me up with a kiss and all.” 

Sarah huffed out a laugh against his neck, then pulled back to look at him. “So in this scenario, you’re Sleeping Beauty?” 

“Well, the sleeping part fits,” he said with a lopsided smile. Then his eyes went soft as he gazed at her. It was like he wanted nothing more than to just look at her. 

And that was all she wanted to do, too. Gently, she stroked the side of his face. “How are you feeling?” 

Chuck tilted his head, as if he was assessing his condition. “Better. Not great, but definitely better. At least now my eyelids don’t feel like they’re nailed shut and someone got that elephant off my chest.” 

“Ellie and Devon said you’d probably need another day or two here in the hospital, and then a week to recover fully. They guess,” Sarah said, unable to stop her fingers from stroking his cheek. 

“Yeah . . . I don’t think I’ll be mission-ready for a while,” Chuck said. Then he got a little smirk on his face. “But I do think I’ll be honeymoon-ready, just in time.” 

She couldn’t help smiling, even as her cheeks went pink. “We have to have the wedding first. Which means at some point, I need to go wedding dress shopping.” And that meant leaving Chuck’s side. Which didn’t sound very appealing at the moment. 

“What day is it?” Chuck asked, his forehead wrinkling. 

“Umm . . . it’s the 9th, I think,” Sarah said, not entirely certain. “I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday, so that would make today the 9th.” 

“There’s time,” Chuck said, reaching out and playing with her hair a little. 

“Time for me to fix my hair?” she asked with a sad smile. She hadn’t realized just how different she would feel with her messy, two-tone hair. How . . . unattractive. But it didn’t seem to matter to Chuck--not from his reaction, at least. 

“No. Well, yes, I mean, if you want to change it--I’m not saying you have to be worrying about that, though. But no, I mean . . . there’s time. For us. To be together, to prepare for the wedding, to . . . to not be apart anymore.” 

At his sweet, hopeful words, Sarah felt tears threaten. In fact, when she ducked her head, a single tear streaked down her cheek. Because he wasn’t pressuring her to talk about what happened or looking for information about his mother and why she wasn’t here. No . . . he was just so happy to see her. To know that their wedding was going to happen. To be together again. 

Sarah reached out and hugged him. “I have so much to tell you . . . but could you just hold me for a while?” she asked quietly. 

She could feel him brush his face against the top of her head, then he nodded. “Would a few days be enough to start with?” 

There couldn’t be enough words for her to explain or describe how much she loved him at this moment. Sarah chuckled softly. “A very good start,” she said, cuddling in against him. 

Chuck reclined against his pillows, pulling her down with him. Sarah shifted, stretching her legs out beside his on top of the covers. Even with the ravages of the Norseman’s effects on him, he still felt so good. The perfect fit. 

Lying beside him, Sarah felt peace for the first time in months. The worry was just draining out of her, replaced with hope and happiness and gratitude. The next few weeks would be challenging: there was dealing with the fallout of her assignment, learning what Graham’s reaction to her performance was, making sure she still had a job. There would be talking to Chuck about what happened and coping with his mother’s betrayal. Plus, there was all the final details for their wedding, and the ceremony and reception itself. 

But she knew none of those challenges would be too great, because they would be facing them together. Because she was home now. And that let her relax enough to finally drift off into a blissful, warm, safe sleep. 

XXX

In retrospect, he was pretty glad that it was a few days before he was strong enough to leave the hospital. Because it gave him time to focus on his physical healing before he had to learn about what Sarah had faced at Volkoff Industries. 

It was his second night home. They had ordered some pizza and Chuck had laughed as Sarah talked about her shopping trip with Ellie. Apparently there was something hilarious about the dress shop clerk, some quality that didn’t really come through in Sarah’s retelling of the event. 

When she realized she had lost him, Sarah had smiled and curled up against him. “It was very funny.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Chuck said, rubbing her back. “And you’ve got your wedding dress now?” 

“Yes, I do,” Sarah said, smiling a bit distractedly. 

He looked at her as he chewed on the last bit of his slice. “Sarah?” 

She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I think it’s time to talk about what happened. When I was undercover.” 

Her words made him tense up a little. Because while he wanted to know, it had been nice, these last few days, to not know. To not have to deal with ugly reality but instead be in this wedding planning dreamworld. 

But at the same time, Sarah needed to talk about what she had faced. And she was ready to talk now. He knew what a gift it was, to have Sarah trust him enough to share herself with him. He wasn’t going to do anything to lose her trust. 

So he nodded. “Okay.” 

Sarah reached out and took his hand. She gazed down at their entwined fingers as she began talking. It was like she needed as much contact, as much touch, as she could get as she explained what she had gone through. 

What she had faced absolutely staggered him. Chuck had known how difficult this mission was, on an intellectual level. And even emotionally, he knew Sarah would face great challenges. But hearing about what she had seen, watching her face as she spoke . . . Chuck felt his heart break for her even as he was once again awed by her strength and courage. 

There were some tears. There was a lot of anger. But it seemed that while she had bent, she hadn’t broken. She was still Sarah.

Eventually, she wiped her hand over her face. “I sent you a video . . . through Bryce’s dead drop in Toronto. Did you get it?” 

Chuck brushed her hair back and kissed her temple. “I did.” 

She looked a bit surprised. “So you know that I thought Frost was your mother.” She paused, chewing on her lower lip. “I would have thought you’d have asked me about her already.” 

“Well . . . I was waiting for you to be ready to talk,” Chuck said. “And I knew something bad had happened, because of what I heard when I was in the hospital. But I was so out of it, I don’t really know what happened.” He looked at Sarah and stroked her hair. “Did she . . . for you to get out, did she have to sacrifice herself?” 

It shouldn’t be possible, but the sympathy and concern in Sarah’s eyes became greater and even more evident. She shook her head, then spoke softly. “I’m sorry, Chuck, but . . . but she’s not who I thought she was.” 

“It wasn’t my mother?” Chuck asked.

“No, it was Mary Bartowski. But . . .” Sarah swallowed. “She betrayed me, Chuck. I had confronted her about who she really was and revealed who I was. And she played me.” 

“I--I don’t understand . . .” Chuck said. He must have misunderstood what Sarah said. Gotten a temporary case of aphasia or whatever condition caused you to mishear things. Because it couldn’t be possible that his mother had done that. Was it?

Sarah held his hand tightly. “Chuck, she set me up. I thought she was transferring Volkoff’s Hydra database to the CIA, when actually she used the information I gave her for the transfer to hack into the Agency. And after she got that . . . Volkoff used the Norseman on you.” 

“She must not have known--” he started to say, only for Sarah to shake her head.

“No, Chuck,” she said gently, clearly trying to soften the blow. “I think it was her idea. Her plan.” 

He pulled away, needing a bit of distance. Needing to find some way to cope with this. But he didn’t know how to handle this. Couldn’t reconcile the woman he remembered as his mother--pretty, kind but slightly distant--with whom Sarah was describing. 

“I’m sorry, Chuck,” Sarah said, slowly reaching out to rub his back. “I almost wish now I hadn’t told you anything . . .”

“No,” he said, his voice sounding small and weak. He cleared his throat. “No, I’m glad you told me. When you first thought my mom was there, and what she did.” Chuck turned his head and looked at Sarah. “Did she tell you why she did it?” 

“Not . . . not really. The closest she got to explaining herself was when she told me that--” Sarah stopped and looked at him. Then she said quietly, “She loved your father in her own way, but being a spy always came first.” 

Chuck gritted his teeth. It was amazing how his mother had happened to hit upon a phrase that not only made his nine-year-old self quake, but his adult self, too. Because he had to admit, there had been times since he met Sarah when he had wondered if she would make the same kind of decision. If he would become like his father. 

Maybe it was time, though, to let that fear go. To stop wondering why Sarah was with him. After all, they were getting married in less than two weeks. She had taken on an entire terrorist network in order to save him. And even after all that, she looked the most sad about having to tell him that his mother was responsible for their suffering. 

Lifting his head, he looked at Sarah. Took in every inch of her face, thought about all her good and bad qualities. Everything about her that he loved and admired, everything about her that annoyed and frustrated him. 

There was no question in his mind that he loved her. Would always love her. And in that moment, he realized she felt the same way about him. So why was he worrying about this? 

He reached out and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry.” 

“What do you have to be sorry about?” she asked quietly. 

“I wish I could have been there for all of this,” he said, stroking along her spine. “That I could have been watching your back.” 

Sarah curled in against him. “I know, baby,” she said softly. She lightly kissed his cheek, then trailed her lips along his jaw to his mouth. 

Kissing Sarah was always special. But he had been taking extra pleasure in it ever since she had returned. Ever since she brought him back from the brink of death. 

And, he reminded himself before he got lost in emotion and sensation, he would get to do this for the rest of his life. 

XXX

It was still very early--just past six in the morning. But Sarah Walker was awake. Because it was the day before the wedding and she was nervous. And Sarah Walker didn’t get nervous. 

Chuck was stretched out beside her, his feet covering hers and an arm draped over her. After two weeks of recovery, he was looking healthier, his skin a better color, strength returning to his body. And she was slowly recovering, too. 

Physically she had escaped Volkoff Industries unscathed. It was the emotional wounds that were taking time to heal. Because she couldn’t just let Chuck make everything go away; it wasn’t fair to him or to her. She had to do the hard work of addressing her feelings. 

To her surprise, Graham had not fired her. In fact, in her debriefing via video conference, he had told her that she would receive a commendation and a pay raise. 

“Even though Volkoff gained access to the CIA servers?” she had asked, still not completely sure that she had her job. 

“The server you gave Frost is a dummy one, designed for use in undercover missions. The files they pulled down also let us follow their trail to their own computers. We had more than enough information to arrest Volkoff--beyond his attempted murder of an agent of the United States government. And he was captured thanks to you.” Graham looked at her for a long moment. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sarah. You did well. I understand you and Agent Bartowski will be taking a month of leave?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “For our wedding and honeymoon . . .”

Graham nodded. “Congratulations, then. And enjoy your time, Agent Walker. When you return, there will be many opportunities for you with the dismantling of Fulcrum.” 

“Sir?” Sarah asked, having something to ask him before he disconnected. “You said Volkoff was captured . . . what about Frost?” 

“Unfortunately, Frost slipped free of our net.” Graham’s annoyance was palpable. “But we will not rest until she is apprehended.” 

Sarah sighed and nodded, allowing the briefing to end. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted Frost to be captured, for Chuck’s sake. But for now, it was a moot point. She had resolved to push aside her worries about Frost and focus on her and Chuck. After all, it was their wedding tomorrow. 

And there came the nerves again. 

Chuck needed his rest, she knew. But if she accidentally woke him up, that wouldn’t be all bad, would it? Especially when he looked so perfectly adorable when he was asleep--but even more adorable when he was awake. 

Leaning in, Sarah nuzzled him softly. He was so warm . . . so solid and real and hers. Almost hers in every way there was. It was so amazing, that this man who could have anyone had picked her. Wanted her, loved her. Even after what she had to do at Volkoff’s, even after the ways she had let him down--

No. No more beating herself up for what happened. It was time for happy thoughts. So she place a soft, open-mouthed kiss on Chuck’s neck. 

He let out a delightful little shiver, blinking his eyes open. Then he smiled at her, looking sleepy. “Hey, baby.” 

As one, they moved in for a kiss. In deference to Chuck’s dislike of kissing pre-tooth brushing, she kept her lips closed and settled for a soft, gentle kiss. But it wasn’t enough to kill the butterflies in her stomach. 

After a moment, he pulled back and looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Is . . . is everything okay?” 

“Why do you ask?” she said, worried about how he would react if he knew she was nervous about the wedding.

“No reason. None whatsoever. Totally fine here. Good morning!” 

Hearing his babble made her feel less foolish. Because now she knew he was nervous, too. 

Sarah shifted to look into his face. “I woke up over an hour ago. Because . . . because all I could think about was the wedding and how important it is. It’s the day we tell the whole world that we belong together, but . . .”

How could she put it in words? It seemed like tempting fate, saying in front of dozens of people that she loved Chuck so much that she wanted to never be apart from him. Ever since they had gotten engaged, the wedding had been an event that would happen someday. But now that someday was tomorrow, she wasn’t sure if she was ready. Ready for the ceremony, that is. She was more than ready to be married. 

Chuck shifted, turning onto his side to look at her. She could see so much in his eyes. Concern about how she was feeling, his own worries and hesitations, all the last-minute details to be done before tomorrow. But most of all, she saw love. Love, shining in his eyes--and all for her. Then, she could see his face light up as he got an idea. One that he wasn’t quite sure about, but he still went ahead with it.

“What if we did a dry run?”

“A dry run?”

“Yeah, a dry run. A chance for us to just say our vows, make sure there’s no kinks. So we’ll be ready. After all, practice makes--”

“Perfect,” she said, smiling at him. And lying there beside him, looking at him in the early morning sunlight, she realized just how apt the word was. 

Together, they were perfect. 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure there will be some people upset that more wasn’t done with Frost in this epilogue. But that’s something that will be left for the next-and the final-story: the story of Chuck and Sarah’s wedding day. So that’s what you have to look forward to at some point. :-)
> 
> If you liked this story, you can thank Steampunk.Chuckster for being the best first reader around, hands down. I had a lot of angst about this story, with Sarah going undercover and Frost being revealed as the real bad guy. She talked me down from the ledge each time and I’m so glad she did.
> 
> Thanks are also due to all of you, reading and reviewing this story. It’s so great that there are people still in the Chuck fandom eager for more with these amazing characters. I’m not leaving anytime soon, so I hope most of you aren’t leaving, either. Thanks!


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